


Nothing Is Ever As It Seems

by Illusinia



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, au-ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-03 10:28:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 35,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/697275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illusinia/pseuds/Illusinia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Secrets can be dangerous when you work for a covert government agency like S.H.I.E.L.D. They can be even more dangerous when you take on spy work for said agency. At this point though, Darcy'll do anything to stay hidden until she can find her sister or get home. But what happens when life, a life that was never desired, interferes?</p><p>This takes place between Thor and The Avengers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Last Call

**Author's Note:**

> So, some of you know I've been working on a longer piece recently and, well it's not done, I wanted to post a little to see the response I got. Depending on the response, I'll either post the rest of what I have and more as I write it or take this chapter down. Let me know what you think.

She knows as soon as she closes her eyes that this will not be a normal sleep. There is a tug near the back of her neck, faint but there as if someone has grabbed hold of her very essence and is attempting to drag her spirit away. She releases the majority of the hold she has on her body and follows the tug, maintaining only a faint connection so she can get back without too much trouble. Trying to navigate the in-between space between the realms free-fall style is a bitch.

For several minutes all she knows is the black void she's being led through, the space humming with a power that caresses her nerves but empty all the same save the occasional flash of color that she can not identify. The pull is stronger now, more insistent and infused with a sense of urgency. She moves as fast as she can through the in-between towards the source of the pull. And suddenly she breaks free, stepping (literally) onto soft grass as her spiritual body forms into a more corporal one.

Her destination is a small island, the sides spilling away into nothing. The roots of a giant tree dig into the grassy land while its branches reach up and disappear into the star-dotted sky. She knows where she is. How her father managed to convince the Norns to let them meet here, she will never know. As long as Ratatockr doesn't drop another nut on her head though, she won't complain. Damn divine trouble-making squirrel. Next time she sees him, she is going to follow in her sister's steps and bite him. See if he bothers her after that.

“I'm surprised the Norns let us meet here.” Her comment isn't mean, just amazed. Yes, her father is a powerful man but she wouldn't expect that the Fates to let anyone meet in their home at the base of the World Tree.

Her eyes turn to fall on the exceptionally tall and muscled man before her (he's at least five times her size). His sword is resting across his back, and the long black hair she's so familiar with hangs loose for a change. His eyes are a color she can't really identify, shifting and changing almost constantly with his sight. Her own do the same when she's walking the time stream, or at least so she's been told. Leather and fur is strapped to his body, creating the armor-style clothing he tends to favor. She feels relief when her eyes detect no sigh of chain mail or metal. 

“They were willing, if only because so long as you are in this dimension there are few places I can truly speak with you.” His voice is the deep reverberating boom she finds soothing. The voice of her father. The voice of Heimdall the Guardian.

She nods slowly, moving so she might hop up on one of the large roots protruding from the ground. It doesn't make her much taller, but the little bit helps. “I'm hoping this visit means I get to come home soon. I've been here for four years now.”

His large head shakes slowly as he shifts to look out over the edge of the island. “No. It is still too dangerous for you to return. I come bearing news of your sister. She will be joining you here soon.”

“Here?” The faint dread she always feels when her father visits turns into a ball of ice in her stomach. A few of the marks she bears flicker to life along her skin, making the hair on her mortal body stand on end.

“Yes.” His conformation heightens her fear. If her sister is being sent away, things are far worse than she imagined.

Slowly, she shakes her head as ideas run rampant through her mind. “What happened. What is so bad that even Mother's assassin is being sent away?”

There's silence for a moment as Heimdall turns, coming to lean on the root beside where she sits. “She is the target of an attack. One of her former brothers has lost his mind. His intentions towards her are...violent. Her former mother has set in motion magic that will keep him from causing her harm, but those same measures keep us from harming him.”

“So the measures need to be taken down. And she needs to be sent away so he can't reach her while she's unprotected.” The reasoning is sound, but she doesn't like the implications. “How strong is this spirit?”

Again, Heimdall is silent for a moment, eyes drawn back to the expanse of stars that hangs around them. “He is the spirit of the forest, of all plants and trees which exist upon the Earth.”

“He's ancient.” So is her sister. This man though, she knows who this spirit is. Her sister's former twin, and the man her sister formally guarded against all threats. The one brother her sister loves as her brother still, to this day. Not matter how long it has been since she was transformed. “How is she taking the news?”

“I do not know.” For her father to admit something like that means that he is letting someone else handle this and giving them privacy to boot. “I cannot imagine well though. She's very stubborn.”

She shakes her head and raises an eyebrow at Heimdall. “You're surprised?”

“No.” For several seconds they sit in silence. Heimdall breaks it. “Your sister will arrive soon. There is a set of ancient ruins near where you are, do you know them?”

She considers the area around her college for a moment. “The pueblos?”

Heimdall nods once. “I believe that is what humans named them.”

“I know where they are.”

“She will be there.” His eyes turn back towards the star-dotted expanse surrounding them again. “Her father will bring her in three days time, near dusk.”

She nods softly. “I will be there.”

“Good. I will pass your message along.”

She jumps from the root, recognizing a dismissal when she hears it and starts towards the center of the island again. Returning from the roots of the World Tree is not difficult, once you know the way. They never part with anything akin to sentiment. Her sister often did, but she knows her father does not appreciate such shows.

“Daughter.” His voice draws her attention back to him. “I will come for you as soon as it is safe. Understand that sending you here was never my first choice in options.”

Its as close to an 'I love you' as she has heard in years, and she understands why. Her father sees all, she can only imagine how hard it is to not be able to see your daughter for nearly 1200 years. To still struggle to see her at times, even knowing where she is. “I know, Dad.”

Always, Heimdall has been father since she learned who he was. Who she was. Always father, never dad. Dad is a name with personal connotations and implications of love. Heimdall has always deserved father but never dad. Not until now.

“Be safe. Protect your sister, though that is not your job. I will come for you as soon as I can.” Then he is gone and her connection to that world is fading. Instead of Yggdrasil's roots, she sees void again, the darkness marred only by splashes of faint color here and there. 

When her spirit slides back into her mortal body, she becomes aware of two things. One, she is lightheaded from limited breath. Her breathing always shallows out when she leaves her body, so this is not abnormal. Two, there is an unfamiliar dampness to her face. Touching her cheek, her fingers come away wet. Wet with tears. Tears for her father, her mother, and her sister. Tears of worry and fear.

She presses all of those emotions down and slowly slides from bed. No sleep will seek her out tonight and instead she dresses. In three nights her sister will arrive to stay until whatever danger is present passes. The location of their meeting is closed at night. She must find a way to sneak in. Surveillance work will distract her from the implications of her father's actions. From everything that is apparently happening at home. Every event she can do nothing about.

Her feet carry her from the room to her car and out into the desert. 

 

For two days, she surveys the area and determines how to enter the site at night. On the third, she breaks into the site and heads to their meeting ground near dusk and waits there all night. She returns every night for the next three days as well. However, her sister never arrives. 

It's also the last time she hears from her father for two years.


	2. Date Rescuers

_Two years later..._

 

 _I hate Jane_. Darcy's inner monolog has been saying this for the past twenty minutes. Of course, she doesn't really hate Jane. No, she loves the female scientist to death. But right now, she hates her. Largely because Jane is the reason Darcy is stuck on a date with Mr. Fellow Lab Assistant and if he makes one more flirtatious comment or pass she'll be tempted to remove one of his eyes with her fork. Of course, he's not flirting with anyone else. No, his attention is solely focused on _her_ and it's the sort of attention that makes you feel treasured. Not the type that makes you feel like you can win a brawl with a man bigger than you. Which Darcy has done. Twice.

 

The man in question is talking about some kind of an experiment that he did and is apparently exceptionally proud of. He's acting like it's some sort of amazing achievement. _If that's the high point of his life so far, I don't want anything to do with him_. Seriously, she at least has a masters at 24. Even if it's not in science, this time.

 

Really, she just doesn't like the guy. He's been presumptuous, a tad pushy, and something about him is rubbing her in all the wrong ways. Yeah, tonight is definitely going down in her book as a failure. Too bad there's no good way to leave. They haven't even ordered food yet. And she has so many better things to do right now. Hell, she'd wish for a disturbance that would get her called into the office if she didn't know there would be some kind of karmic repercussions. Seriously, you can't wish for some kind of disaster or drama of the violent sort that S.H.I.E.L.D. deals with, and would thus get her called into work, without suffering some negative consequence.

 

Subtly, she slides out her phone and scans her contacts list in hopes of finding someone to help her out. The only two people in the area that she has numbers for are Jane and Coulson. And one of them is the reason she's here in the first place, and is the same reason she doesn't just walk or slip out. Jane's teary face is frighteningly effective.

 

Which leaves Coulson as her potential savior. Not a bad choice, but one she's not sure she wants to use. She adores Phil of course. The man is a freaking machine who she swears runs S.H.I.E.L.D. single-handed sometimes. No, her issue with contacting him is guilt. She'll feel guilty for interrupting his down time over something trivial and he'll have something to hold over her head later (i.e. make her feel guilty) when he wants her to do something. Not that she wouldn't do almost anything for the man (he's one of the few humans she actually has respect for next to Jane), but if he guilt trips her then she can't whine about it. Her Mother would be so disappointed that's even a concern.

 

She refocuses on her forced date for a second, hears the tail end of a bad science pick-up line, and quickly texts Coulson. _'Please tell me that I need to come into the office.'_

 

The response is almost immediate. _'Why do I sense the need for an excuse or a rescue.'_

 

 _'Because I need an excuse to rescue me from my god-awful date.'_ Hey, she isn't above telling the truth if it'll get her out of there. Plus, with Phil and S.H.I.E.L.D, specifics are needed. As well as assurances that she isn't in actual danger. Though having agents burst in and arrest her date would be hilarious.

 

 _'Who is it now?'_ The 'now' refers to the fact that this is the third time in the last two months that Jane has attempted to set Darcy up on a date. She gets that Jane is worried that Darcy doesn't date much now (not that she ever really did), but the whole thing is also clearly some kind of diversion for Jane's own feelings of abandonment and loneliness.

 

Darcy debates telling him for a second before giving in with a sigh. If it were anyone else, she would be afraid of retaliation against the man in front of her, but with Phil that seems less likely. Though less doesn't mean impossible. Still, maybe it'll help her case. _'The new lab assistant, Andrew Colns.'_

 

It's several minutes before the next text arrives and for a bit Darcy suspects that Phil has left her to her fate. _'Help is on the way.'_

 

His response is a surprise (she really didn't expect him to help in any way other than to distract her) but she isn't going to turn him down either. If he wants to get her out of here, she won't fight it. No specifics are attached to the message, so she sits back to wait while continuing to dodge pick-up lines and suggestive comments from her date. Is that man really this socially inept? Plus, he's starting to look a little hands-y. His hands keep dancing towards her own across the table in a manner that suggests he wants to touch her.

 

Her savior arrives just as Andrew attempts to caress her knee under the table (she dodged it but felt the air as his hand fell short).

 

“Excuse me, Miss Lewis?”

 

Darcy turns towards the source of the new voice, soaking in the deep tone and military-style crispness. It's a sound that soothes her increasingly irritated nerves. A sound that reminds her of home, family, and everything she misses. Male or female, there's a tone to a warrior's voice that can put her at ease every time. This one happens to be male.

 

The voice's owner stands slightly rigid, as if in a relaxed state of attention. The position looks almost foreign to him though, as if he isn't used to maintaining such a formal stance. His eyes are locked onto her, only momentarily darting to her date. He looks familiar and Darcy can't help but suspect she's seen him somewhere before.

 

“Miss Lewis?” Mystery man repeats his question casually, even though his eyes say he knows exactly who she is. He needs the confirmation though. Apparently, he's her savior.

 

Blinking up at him, she nods in acknowledgment, then realizes he probably needs verbal confirmation as well. “Yeah?”

 

A faint smirk pulls at the corner of his lips as his eyes lock onto her own. “Agent Coulson sent me. You're needed back at the office immediately.”

 

She's careful to hide the sigh of relief as she nods and starts to stand only for Andrew to cover her hand with his own. The touch makes her recoil almost immediately, though she hides it by pretending she was reaching for her water. Her fingers slide out from beneath his smoothly, but she catches the disappointment in his eyes and...a touch of anger?

 

“With all do respect, Agent...?” Andrew's voice sounds strained and unhappy.

 

“Barton.” Ah, that's where she knows him from. Agent Barton is one of Coulson's best agents. She's never directly spoken to him (she doesn't think) but she's seen him coming out of Coulson's office a few times early in the morning. Usually with a demeanor more befitting a zombie than a living human and occasionally with a few bullet holes thrown in for effect.

 

Andrew straightens a little, appearing more nervous than before. Apparently, even the lab rats in science have heard of Agent Barton. Good. “Er, with all due respect Agent Barton, Miss Lewis and I are on a _date_. I'm certain someone else can handle her duties for _one_ night.” His eyes turn on her instantly; his look is hopeful but his energy shows nothing but cocky certainty. “Right, Darcy?”

 

Yeah, no. She's done. That sort of behavior? Not okay. She is so having a word with Jane later. “Nope, I don't have an understudy like most lab _assistants_. Sorry Andrew, duty calls.”

 

His mouth is hanging open and she knows Agent Barton is smirking at him over her shoulder but she doesn't care. She gulps down some water and heads for the front door. Agent Barton is right behind her, keeping pace despite her steam. He doesn't say anything until they've hit the street and her shoulders have dropped back into a normal position a few blocks later.

 

“You alright?” Agent Barton's concern is a bit of a surprise. Darcy's more surprised he didn't split the moment they left the restaurant.

 

“Yeah, peachy,” sighs Darcy as she shoots a quick text of _'thank you'_ to Coulson. She's seriously going to buy that man something nice. Something very nice. “I love having to worm my way out of dates with assholes. Though, I'm a little surprised Coulson sent you to get me out of there.” A thought passes through her head that makes her stop short suddenly. “There isn't really a problem, right?”

 

Barton shoots her a smirk, eyes dancing with mirth. “Nope. I just wanted to use that excuse for a change instead of having it used on me.”

 

Darcy returns his smirk faintly. “Have that happen often Cowboy?” It's the nickname she came up with for him the first time he walked past her desk in cowboy boots and a hat. She'd never meant to use it to his face, but apparently her mouth is far less controlled right now than she would like.

 

Still, he just laughs and shakes his head. “Too often. Cowboy?”

 

“You were in cowboy boots and a hat the first time I saw you.” Her explanation sounds a little silly, but he doesn't laugh. Just smiles widely. She clears her throat as she begins going through her purse. “So, what did you do to Coulson that he sent you to rescue his bored secretary?”

 

His face falls a little and she swears there's a bit of a blush on his face. “Nothing. I was in his office when he got your text. He asked if I'd come get you.”

 

There's a faint twitch that tells Darcy he's using a half-truth. The type of twitch you need the ability to read the energy that flows between everything living in the universe to see. “U-huh. What's the rest?”

 

More metaphysical fidgeting from the Agent confirms her assessment. It takes him a moment to actually say anything though. “We've had a few....incidents with Mr. Coln.”

 

“Incidents?” Darcy knows her brows are in her hair line. She's amazed that sort of thing would be tolerated at S.H.I.E.L.D., period.

 

Barton shrugs, looking a little uneasy. “We can't prove anything. No one has actually _complained_ but there are...concerns.”

 

Darcy shakes her head, digging in her bag to extract her taser. “Good thing I brought my taser along. I almost didn't.”

 

The smile is back full-force. “Why do you use that thing anyway? I know Phil requires everyone, including his secretary be able to use a gun, so why carry the taser?”

 

Her eyes fall to the yellow gun-like device in her hands. “I made a promise once about never harming someone seriously.” Okay, that wasn't the exact promise she made. Far from it. The memory came back to her like a sledge hammer.

 

* * *

_She was sitting in front of their camp fire. The one outside the longhouse meant to warm their bodies rather than cook. It was large tonight, in honor of their return after 200 years on the Earth. They had been back for almost a week now, though they would not be staying. Their Mother made that clear._

 

_No noise gave warning of her sister's approach, but that wasn't a surprise. Her sister was an assassin; noise was her second greatest enemy. The older woman settled herself on the log, careful to move the fringe of the dress she was wearing aside. It was strange to see someone who normally wore armor like a second skin traipsing around in a dress, but she also knew the whole thing was training of a sort. For their next lives. Their mortal lives._

 

_It would be one life, no more or less. One life to remind her what it means to be mortal and to teach her sister how mortals live; to have their lives out of their hands in a sense. Not that she really believes anyone could take control over their lives from them. They are both too stubborn._

 

“ _Rohara.” It's a soft greeting, nearly a whisper. Her sister's hearing is far sharper than her own. A side effect from her former life as a wolf guardian of Gaia._

 

“ _Kithara.” The greeting is equally soft though with a touch of the edge which haunts Rohara's voice like a ghost. Another side effect of Rohara's time as a wolf, or so she has been told. “Are you ready? Mother intends to send us out tomorrow.”_

 

_A smile tugs at the edge of her lips. “Hence the dress.”_

 

_The look of disgust which crosses Rohara's face is telling and humorous. “Yes. I don't understand how you wear such things. They are hardly conducive to fighting.”_

 

“ _Sister, when was the last time I fought anything?” It's a valid question that serves as a reminder. She is the guide, not the hand. The eyes, not the blade._

 

_Rohara smiles faintly and looks towards the fire, light dancing across the smooth planes of her face and highlighting her high cheekbones. The black of her hair seems to swallow any light which it catches while her yellow eyes reflect back the light given. Her sister looks as wild as she is: an untamable force of nature which many have attempted to possess and all have failed to capture. “I never forget you do not wield a blade as I do, sister. Which is what I wish to speak with you about-” There is a notable pause as Rohara considers her next words. The human language still troubles her sister, even now after nearly four hundred years of life as one. “Kithara, whatever you do, promise me you will avoid killing at all costs.”_

 

_She knows her face is painted in shock. Her sister, the mistress of bloodshed and their mothers assassin, is asking her to avoid killing. “I do not understand.”_

 

_The soft sigh her sister gives is so different from normal, she almost wonders if Rohara is ill. “I've killed before Kithara. Many times. You know this. You have guided my hand.” Rohara's eyes drop to her hands. “My hands are coated in blood so thick they will never be clean. I have more than enough blood on my hands for both of us, you do not need to amass any yourself.”_

 

_Her sister's meaning strikes suddenly, leaving understanding in its wake. It isn't the idea of her killing, Rohara fears she will suffer nightmares. Nightmares of the sort her sister often fends off. Ones that leave Rohara panting in the middle of the night. The haunting presence of the never-ending guilt over her actions._

 

_Silently, she reaches out and touches Rohara's left hand. The one closest to her. “I promise that I will avoid killing if I can.” She will not promise to never kill. Promises are precious in their world and not something made lightly. This particular promise is one she internally swears to keep at all costs._

 

* * *

 

“Miss Lewis?” Barton's voice draws her from the memory, reminding her that she is not alone. Her eyes dart around them quickly, noting they've walked almost two full blocks. They'll hit S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters soon.

 

“Hm?” Her response is carefully timed, more meant to make someone believe she is far less aware than is actually the case. “Sorry, I must have spaced out.”

 

Barton nods, offering her a grin in response. “Yeah, I noticed that. Bad memories?”

 

“No,” corrects Darcy. She isn't completely sure why she says the next part, but partially blames her mouth's apparent sentience. “It's a good one actually, from the last night I saw my sister.”

 

“Oh.” Apparently, he takes this to mean her sister is dead. Though not true (she doesn't think), she decides not to correct this assumption. The truth is too hard to explain and too surreal for most to understand. Besides, she likes having a life _outside_ a cage. “I'm sorry to hear that.”

 

She shrugs, careful to keep her tone as neutral as possible. “It was a long time ago. I got over it.”

 

“Good to know.” Barton falls silent at that point, apparently uncertain how to proceed. Darcy takes the opportunity to examine him more thoroughly.

 

Really, he is a ridiculously attractive man in the been-there-done-that way that reflects his ability to take care of himself. His nose is a bit crooked and she's guessing it's been broken many times before. A few scars mar his arms, badges from past fights. His stance is that of a warrior, one who has been in that position for so long he is incapable of fully relaxing. It's attractive and something she's been wanting for as long as she can remember. Too bad the circumstances aren't better.

 

They reach S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Headquarters before Barton speaks again, motioning for her to enter with him. “I know it's probably the last place you want to be, but we need to at least maintain the story that you're needed back here so your...date doesn't ask any inconvenient questions.” She notes the pause before the word 'date' and wonders about it, but pushes those thoughts away immediately. It doesn't matter. “Coulson said to hang out in his office for a bit, just to be safe. There's no camera's inside so he won't actually know what we're doing.”

 

The very nature of this whole situation leaves her tense. Something here isn't right. Without thinking, she brushes one foot against her right ankle as they ride the elevator up to the floor containing Coulson's office. The familiar press of a leather cord tied there comforts her. When they step off the elevator is when she speaks next. “What aren't you telling me?”

 

Barton glances back at her with a cocked eyebrow that might have been curious if not for his guarded look. Something is definitely wrong. “What do you mean?”

 

“You aren't telling me something,” replies Darcy as she stops in the middle of the hallway, arms crossed over her chest. It's a defensive position, but one she knows how to use effectively. Besides, when you aren't the blade...

 

His head turns slightly as he glances behind him at Coulson's office door before refocusing on her and dropping his voice. “Look, can we get in the office and then discuss this?”

 

Her eyes dart around his face, noting the worry present in his expression. His motives towards her are pure, but there is something he isn't telling her. Something he will try to dodge once they're inside. It isn't dangerous though, and she can't see a good reason to not follow him in. At least, not one that won't land her in a lab cage. “Alright. But I expect the truth mister. No bull.”

 

“No bull,” promises Barton as she walks past him. She can feel his eyes on her back. He's following close behind her.

 

As they reach the door she reaches for her keys but Barton turns the knob and the door swings open effortlessly. She ducks inside under the arm he's using to hold the door unnecessarily open and straightens to the last sight she expected. It had sounded like the office was empty when Barton spoke. As her eyes fall first on Coulson then Fury, Hill, and a red-headed woman Darcy is relatively sure she's seen before, the whole situation materializes a little more. Her 'date' is definitely in trouble with S.H.I.E.L.D. The question is, for what?

 

“This isn't the party I was expecting Barton.” Her voice is casual, at ease with the situation. The woman she calls mother is more frightening when angry than any individual currently sitting in the room. And she faced down her mother once. “Though I'm guessing that explanation will be forth coming?”

 

Barton ducks his head a little, looking somewhat abashed. “Sorry. I couldn't exactly tell you before we were in here.”  
  


“No shit.” Darcy sighs as she moves to drop onto the couch in Coulson's office. She's been here before of course, working for the man like she does. It had actually been a surprise when S.H.I.E.L.D hired her. “So, what did Mr. Lab Assistant do that's got everyone so POed?”

 

Fury examines her for a moment with his one eye and she has a strange moment of deja vu. Though they are two very different people with vastly different appearances, Fury and Odin really do look similar. Her grandfather is less intimidating though (somehow). It might be the actual presence of emotion. Or the fact he's usually smiling.

 

Her thoughts are interrupted by Fury opening a file in his lap and beginning to speak. “Miss Lewis, what do you know about Mr. Coln?”

 

Well, so much for getting an explanation first. “He's a lab assistant, an ass, has wondering hands, believes he's some great flirt, clearly hoped to get some tonight, and is really proud of one lab experiment that seems to have been his magnum opus.”

 

Everyone stares at her, apparently not expecting a detailed list of the man's faults. Except Coulson, who's smiling in that faint way he does when he's been proven right. It's also the look he gives when he's proud of someone who's just proven themself and proven him right in the process. Apparently, Coulson beat someone in a bet or argument. Based on the various expressions around the room, she's betting Hill, though it could have been the red-head too.

 

“Interesting,” commented Fury while reading through something in the folder.

 

Barton, who's standing next to the now-closed door, twitches a little. “He couldn't keep his hands to himself?”

 

Darcy shrugs. “He was trying to get touchy-feely when you showed up. Fortunately for him, you showed up.”

 

“Why is that fortunate, Miss Lewis?” asks Coulson mildly, eyebrow raised in a curious manner.

 

She is careful to look him in the eye as she replies, a touch of a smirk pulling at the corner of her lips. “People don't talk about it, but forks are _really_ dangerous.”

 

It's an implied threat aimed at her former date. She's expecting some vaguely amused looks or maybe a few questioning ones. The laugh from Barton and the red-head and the proud smile from Coulson are definitely not high on her list of possible reactions. Even Fury looks vaguely amused by her response. Hill is the only one who looks unhappy.

 

“So I've been told, Miss Lewis.” Fury offers her a faint smirk before shutting his file and returning to business. The sobering of his expression brings the room back to its previously serious state. “Your 'date' is a potentially dangerous man. Were you aware of this before you agreed to go out with him?”

 

Darcy snorts a little and leans back on the couch. “There was no 'agreeing'. Jane said she wanted to have dinner. I showed up and found that guy instead of Jane. It wasn't until I was there that I realized this was another of Jane's attempts to set me up with someone.”

 

Fury's eyebrows rose towards his hairline as did one of Barton's. “Dr. Foster is the reason you were on that date?”

 

“She says I don't get out enough.” It's probably true, but she has a lot to get done. Promises to keep and responsibilities to live up to. “Personally, I think she's crazy but, what do I know.”

 

“Hmm,” hums Fury as he sets the folder aside and leans forward. “So you have no interest in Mr. Coln?”

 

“Abso-fucking-lutly not.” It's a bit of a harsh statement but she doesn't put up with the kind of attitude he was exhibiting tonight. “He can burn in hell for all I care.” Absently, she wonders if he'll actually go to Hel's realm or land elsewhere. She also wonders if Hel even exists in this world. Obviously, a lot of other things are very different.

 

Fury is looking at her now like she's somehow the key to every lock he ever wanted to pick but couldn't. “How would you feel about being a bit of a spy for us, Miss Lewis?”

 

Spy? That really isn't what she was expecting. “You want me to spy on Coln?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Really, she shouldn't be surprised by that response. And she isn't. The problem is, well, she isn't her sister. Lying isn't her strong suit. Still, she can do it when necessary. And maybe this is one of those situations where she can actually lie and not have issues. “What would you need me to do?”

 

The smile that pulls across Fury's face is less of a surprise than it should be. “Ask about the job before you do it. That's smart.”

 

“My sister taught me well.” The words are out of her mouth before she can think them through but it's the truth. Her sister taught her very well. It takes her a moment to realize her folly. In this world, this life, she doesn't have a sister. Still, she doesn't offer a rushed explanation or hurried back track. Those tip people off to lies. Instead, she acts like the statement is completely true and normal.

 

Red-head's brow is furrowed now along with Coulson's and neither one looks comfortable. However, Coulson is the one who actually voices his displeasure. “I wasn't aware you had a sister, Miss Lewis.”

 

She knows he knows she knows they did a background check on her when she came to work for S.H.I.E.L.D. Why he's not bringing that up she doesn't know. Unless...oh hell. If her father or her sister's father (more likely) spun a strong enough spell, it might deter anyone from actually running a background check on her. She knows there isn't any actual documentation from before she got dropped here. She's checked herself. Back track, she needs to back track believably.

 

“Yeah,” insists Darcy easily. She forces herself to put on a look of casual ease as she looks across the room at each face present. Hill makes a face that allows Darcy to add more quickly. “Er, not a biological one of course. I had a really good friend years ago in middle school that was pretty much my sister.”

 

“I see.” She doubts Coulson completely believes her, but he seems inclined to drop the discussion for now.

 

Darcy takes the opening to push forward. “So, what do you want me to do?”

 

Fury stares at her for a moment before he begins again. “We want you to flirt with Coln, get him to drop his guard. The man is hiding something. We already have bugs in his apartment and a few agents assigned to tail him but they've all come up empty handed. Your assessment is an accurate one though, and he appears attracted to you if the way he reacted when Agent Barton showed up is any indication. Ideally, you'd run a closer form of surveillance than any of our other agents can.”

 

“Will I have to fuck him?” It's a blunt question, but one that's been hovering on the back of her mind. Coln is physically discomforting to her and, even without her sister's powers, she can tell he's a bad man. Or at least insane.

 

Barton chokes from beside the door, drawing Darcy's attention to him for a moment. He looks more than a little unhappy about her question. Especially if the way his fingers are twitching is any indication. She doesn't let her mind wonder why.

 

Fury doesn't seem too surprised by the question though. “No, you wouldn't be required to do that. You might have to maintain some physical contact with him though. Minor things of course.”

 

“Hand holding, quick kisses on the cheek, middle-school stuff?” Darcy's hoping that's it. She wants to be able to do this, dammit. Something in the back of her mind is telling her she needs to do this.

 

“More or less,” confirms Fury with a hand wave. “The more adult variation of course, but that is generally what you might have to do at most.”

 

Darcy nods slowly, her eyes dropping to the carpet. Simple stuff like that she can probably do. There might even be a way to make it easier on herself if she can find the right things. “So I'm playing flirt while spying on the man?”

 

“Pretty much.” It's the first time Barton's really spoken since the hand's comment earlier. He doesn't sound super happy about all of this, but he's not angry either. His eyes are locked on her, the stare making her nervous. Somehow, she feels like he knows more than he should.

 

“Sounds simple. I'll do it.” There isn't much thought that goes into her decision. Besides, maybe this guy will, by some miracle, lead her to some useful information. He is in the science department after all and Jane's research isn't panning out the way Darcy was hoping it would. “When do I start?”

 

Coulson shifts some papers around on his desk, then clicks something on his computer. “Tomorrow. He should seek you out and invite you on a second date if he maintains his pattern.”

 

“Great.” She knows the sarcasm is threaded through her voice but she'd been hoping for at least one day without the guy around.

 

Fury gives her a look that isn't happy. “If you can't do this Miss Lewis, say so and we'll find someone who can.”

 

Darcy rolls her eyes before standing, careful to make her slight annoyance known. “I can do it, that isn't a problem. I was just hoping for some time before he became my problem again. If he grabs me some way I don't like though, I will remove his balls for him.”

 

The red-head smiles at Darcy, speaking for the first time since their meeting began. “I can teach you a few ways to do that, if you need me to.” Her voice is smooth and reassuring, reminding Darcy of her sister's voice when attempting to tease.

 

“I'll keep that in mind, thanks for the offer.” Really, she will. She's actually curious to see which ways this woman knows. Rohara taught her a ton of different tricks and she wants to know if any of them cross dimensional boundaries. “So, can I go or do you need to debrief me or something?”

 

Fury glances at Coulson who shrugs in response. “You can go. Just be here by 7:30 so we can discuss the details of your new assignment.”

 

“Roger,” confirms Darcy with a casual salute. “So, do I get to walk home alone?” She kind of hopes she does. This whole night has left her on edge in ways that can only be solved by solitude.

 

“Agent Barton will escort you home,” replies Fury. “In case something happens. He will also be posted in your building.”

 

Darcy balks a little. Talk about invasion of privacy. “Not in my apartment.”

 

Barton winces a little and looks somewhat hurt. She isn't sure what to think of the look. “We'll make arrangements for me to move into an apartment in the building.”

 

For a moment she feels a little bad about her reaction, but the reality is that she knows next to nothing about Agent Barton and doesn't relish the idea of him spending time in her apartment while she sleeps. Plus, she has a few things she keeps hidden away that a spy living in her apartment might discover unintentionally. Either way, she really doesn't want an Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D living in her apartment for an unknown amount of time. “Will he be posted there tonight?”

 

Fury glances at Coulson, who nods and picks up the conversation. “Yes. It would be ideal if he could stay with you for at least the night but if you are uncomfortable we can make other arrangements.”

 

She can just imagine what 'other arrangements' might mean. “Tonight should be alright. My apartment is just small and, well, not meant for two people to share long term. Well, two people who aren't bothered by being wrapped up in each other's space every hour of every day.” Normally she would have said no, but she feels bad about her earlier outburst. She can keep everything hidden for a night and both doors to her bedroom lock. “So, we good? 'Cause I'd like to get home and get some sleep if I've gotta be here by 7:30.”

 

“You're dismissed, Miss Lewis,” confirms Fury before turning to Barton. “Agent Barton, please notify Agent Coulson when you arrive safely. He will be your contact for this assignment.”

 

Barton nods and stands from the wall as she walks past. “Yes sir.”

 

Stepping into the hallway, Darcy is incredibly aware of Barton walking behind her as they exit the office, not beside her like before. It makes her skin crawl. He doesn't make any move to walk beside her on their way to the elevator either. She keeps her mouth closed until they reach the lift, then is careful to maneuver herself to stand beside him in the elevator. Echoes of her sister's words about turned backs run through her head. Talk about unnerving.

 

They hit the street and she is careful to walk beside him, allowing the silence to hang for a few moments. She needs to get her head on straight. Needs to think. What had made her agree to help S.H.I.E.L.D. with this matter? Ultimately it wasn't really her business. Except if Jane's research was disrupted, her best chance of getting help was gone. Or getting home.

 

“You can still back out of this if you want to.” Barton's voice nearly makes her jump out of her skin. He seemed so straight-laced, she hadn't expected him to start back up their conversation. “If this whole thing is more than you thought you'd have to deal with, you can back out.”

 

Did he want her to back out or something? “No, it's alright. I'm good, I think. This whole thing is just a...bit of a shock. I mean, why me?”

 

There's a moment where Barton looks distinctly uncomfortable and perhaps a little mad before he answers. “He's interested in you and you're the first person internally that he's pursued. Hopefully, it'll give us the chance to find out what he's planning.” He pauses for half a second before adding: “Besides, Coulson says you can defend yourself and if the girl who tazed an actual god can't handle this, then we might have a bigger problem on our hands.”

 

How long is that tazing incident with Thor going to follow her around anyway? “And you're sure he's planning something?” It isn't that she's inclined to really ask if they think someone is dangerous or not; S.H.I.E.L.D isn't the type of group to move forward with anything without knowing for sure that there's a problem. She's more interested to know what they're keeping from her. There's definitely a secret somewhere in this mess.

 

Barton nods as they turn the last block and start up the stairs to her apartment building. “Positive.”

 

“Guess we'll find out then.” Things are starting to look more and more messy but she keeps that to herself. They're in her building now and this whole conversation needs to end before they reach her floor. Her neighbors aren't the most subtle people when it comes to their snooping and she swears they bug the hallways.

 

Somehow, she's guessing Barton guesses the thing about her neighbors because he doesn't say anything more until they're through the building and actually inside her apartment. She shuts the door behind him, but pauses in locking it until he reaches back and flips the latch himself. Okay, apparently locking her door behind them isn't as creepy as it sounded in her head.

 

She watches as he examines the room they stepped into with a clearly critical eye. The main room (combination living room and kitchen) contains little in the way of personal objects. There's one small bookshelf that contains a handful of books related to her supposed major and a few novels that she had managed to find in this world which had also been present in her own. There's a shelf of comics too, but it's significantly smaller than her original one at home. Mostly because her current location is the same one described in the comic books she's spent most of her life reading. That was remarkably less exciting when she figured it out than one would think. The rest of the room is taken up by a couch, TV she doesn't ever really use, a locked laptop computer, and a flimsy dining table that she again doesn't really use. The floor is a better work surface.

 

“This is where you live?” He sounds more surprised than disgusted. Surprisingly.

 

Darcy just nods as she drops her purse on the counter and goes to make some coffee. Thankfully whoever decided where she was going had the fore-sight to send her someplace with coffee. There are realms where it doesn't exist. “Yeah. It's not much but it works.”

 

Barton nods, still seemingly surprised by something. “It's neater than I expected.”

 

“Yeah, you haven't seen my bedroom,” snorts Darcy as she throws the coffee maker on and heads back into the main room.

 

The smirk Barton gives her is slightly cocky but mostly teasing. “And when do I get to see that room?”  
  


She can appreciate a bit of teasing. Especially with the night she's had. “Whoa there Cowboy, you have to at _least_ buy me dinner before you even think about getting to worm your way into my bedroom.”

 

“I can do that,” replies Barton with more of a smile than a smirk. “In fact, I can do that right now sense I kinda ruined your dinner plans.”

 

“Which I'm eternally grateful for,” insists Darcy as she moves to open the linen closet in her hallway and pulls down some blankets along with a pillow. “Doesn't mean you get to sleep in my bed tonight though.”

 

“Damn,” jokes Barton as he takes the blankets and pillow before dropping them onto the couch and dropping down beside the pile. “At least your couch is comfy.”

 

Surprisingly, she feels the pull of a smile at the corner of her lips. “We'll see how you feel after one night on the thing.”

 

Again he glances at the couch, then shrugs and leans back against the cushions. “I've slept on worse.”

 

She can imagine and doesn't want to think about that. Or remember some of the worst places she's slept before, which make her couch look like heaven. A part of her is supremely grateful she didn't receive the same gift from Death as her sister. “So, you mentioned dinner?”

 

“I was thinking take out,” admits Barton uneasily. “We can leave again if you want, but if we're seen...”

 

Darcy rolls her eyes and retrieves her packet of take-out menus from the kitchen. “I get it, you don't have to explain. Chinese or pizza?”

 

“Pizza.” It's a quick reply and one she shouldn't be too surprised about. “If that sounds good to you that is.”

 

“Works for me,” replies Darcy with a shrug before she pulls out the menu and picks up her phone. “What do you want on it?”

 

Barton considers that for a moment. “Sausage.”

 

It's very hard for her not to make a sexual joke. Which is bad because she shouldn't want to make sexual jokes about sausage on pizza. Not to a guy she works with. “I'm not even going to touch that one.” Oh gods, where is the filter that's supposed to keep things like that from coming out of her mouth?

 

The grin he gives her is a little dirty. “What? I like sausage. Though, I'm a fan of oysters too.”

 

Well, so much for not making sexual jokes to her co-worker that could get her in trouble. If he's going to do it, he can't be that squeamish. “Yeah? I've heard oysters are good but I've never tried it. I'll stick with sausage, it's more filling.”

 

Barton actually laughs at that and relaxes completely into the couch. “Tonight's gonna be interesting, isn't it?”

 

“Define 'interesting'.” Her fingers enter the number for the pizza place effortlessly as she glances up at him with a raised eyebrow and touch of a smirk.

 

He shrugs, grin still firmly in place, and for the first time since she arrived in this dimension she feels truly human. Possibly for the first time since she was changed 1600 years ago. “Interesting in the sense of you're actually normal and not a S.H.I.E.L.D. robot. You have a sense of humor.”

 

Being called normal is a rarity for her. It makes her feel for a moment like she actually belongs here. “I'm not sure trading dirty jokes can qualify as 'normal' by most people's standards but the assessment is appreciated.”

 

The grin shifts into a smirk and he nods at the phone in her hand. “So, are you gonna order our sausage pizza or just hold the phone? 'Cause I can think of other things you could hold that would probably be more responsive.”

 

A touch of a blush creeps up her cheeks. She's blushing. Actually blushing. By the gods if she weren't busy worrying about other things... “Well, if you stop with the dirty talk for two seconds, I might be able to actually place the order without making the poor cashier feel like he's listening to soft-core porn over the phone.”

 

“I'll behave.” His smile says he won't but she makes the call anyway.

 

And as she places their order amid his attempts at making really cheesy sex sounds and lewd hand motions, its impossible to suppress her smile. Yeah, he's clearly a dirty-minded ass but there's something else there too. For the first time in years, she feels like she's right where she should be rather than an outsider trying to fit in. She feels normal. It's a strange sensation, but one she's determined to relish for the night. After all, come tomorrow everything will go back to the way it was and, as Robert Frost put it, she has promises to keep and many miles to go before she can sleep.


	3. Pizza Parties and Sleepovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What does one do with an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. in their home?

The pizza arrived thirty minutes later and, as promised, Barton pays. They set up the pizza on the floor between the couch and TV, Darcy explaining that she preferred to sit on the floor to the table. Mostly because the table was a pain (one of the legs did legitimately wobble but she saw no reason to replace it) and the floor was just as clean. Possibly more so given she vacuumed regularly (it was amazing how much attention one paid to cleanliness when they had lived in a shack before). She didn't mention the last part though.

 

Pizza slices in hand, they began to chow down with Darcy sitting cross-legged across from Barton who leaned against the couch. His eyes kept darting to her as they ate, but she didn't show any sign that she'd noticed. No one said a word until Barton reached for his second slice.

 

“So where are you from anyway?” His question is so casual and innocent...too bad he doesn't know how hard of a question it is to answer.

 

She hides her delayed response behind chewing. As stupid as it sounds, since Heimdall dropped her into this random dimension, no one had ever actually asked her anything personal such as 'where are you from', so she'd never had to come up with a convincing lie. Originally she'd assumed there had been some kind of spell in place to keep people from asking but unless _Clint_ (he insisted she call him that for mission security) isn't susceptible to the spell (which was highly unlikely), there isn't one and she is that good at dodging people. Or that bad at socializing.

 

He's looking at her expectantly though, so Darcy spits out the first thing she thinks of. “I'm from New York.” Technically that isn't a lie. Originally, back in her dimension, she's from a small town about an hour north of New York City.

 

“New York's nice,” replies Clint before he bites into his second slice. “Good schools too.”

 

Darcy nods in agreement, careful to watch him without looking like she's watching him. “Yep.” She'd know too. Before this little stunt she'd been studying at Columbia University. Well, getting ready to start her research there.

 

Clint continues without a pause. “So, how'd you end up studying Political Science anyway?”

 

“I just kinda fell into it,” explains Darcy with a shrug, which is _completely_ true. Literally.

 

* * *

 

_New York was a busy city filled with strange people and stranger sights. Which was part of why Darcy liked it so much. It was a place she could live surrounded by others without people feeling the need to know her except her colleagues, who were strange themselves._

 

_It was on a street of said city where she'd run into Heimdall. That particular event hadn't been too abnormal in and of itself: he was her father and often checked in on her now that he knew where she was for the first time in 1200 years, thank you Odin. Yes, Odin was responsible for that little mishap in a way, though really she couldn't blame it entirely on him. After all, it wasn't his fault her soul decayed so much it was unidentifiable as her._

 

“ _Daughter.” Heimdall's booming voice drew her attention to where he stood in the entrance to an ally off the street. It also scared her enough that she jumped even as she spun towards him._

 

_One of her hands rose to cover her thumping heart. “By the gods, don't scare me like that!”_

 

_Heimdall's brow furrowed unhappily at her comment. “Could you not feel my approach?”_

 

“ _Uh, mass of people around me,” pointed out Darcy with a faint eyeroll and a gesture at the mass of people milling around the area. “Not exactly easy to feel you specifically when there's so much movement.”_

 

_It was another part of why she loved living in a city. Unlike her sister, who felt the need to always be able to feel everything around her, Darcy found the constant presence of gods and other things that lived in the in-between and high realms distracting. It was better when she couldn't feel them easily._

 

_Her father still looked unhappy. “In these times, it is dangerous not to be aware of your surroundings.”_

 

“ _As if anything is going to come after me,” snorted Darcy as she crossed her arms under her chest. “Nothing knows I'm_ here _, much less has any reason to come after me. I'm not exactly the key to anything.”_

 

“ _You are the key to understanding what will come,” pointed out Heimdall in that certain voice that usually heralded some kind of trouble. Usually for Darcy. Well, not trouble. More like an unhappy event. “It makes you a prize to be sought by those who wish to know what will be.”_

 

 _Darcy shook her head and started walking again after catching sight of her watch. Shit, she was going to be late and on her first day of classes too. Not a good way to start out when you were trying to get a PhD. She wasn't surprised when Heimdall fell into step beside her and continued to argue.“Look, Father, don't worry. I keep my eyes open for anything_ dangerous _. You aren't exactly a threat to me. And I mean that in the sense that you aren't trying to kill, kidnap, or use me in any way.”_

 

_It was weird to see a look of 'you're shitting me, right?' on the face of the Guardian of Asgard. “Kithara, this is not a joke. You cannot disregard your safety as you are. War is upon our lands. You know this.”_

 

“ _War_ might _break out in_ your _realm. I'm not involved in any of this right now, remember? Mortal body.” He's made that point perfectly clear in the last few years since she was found. Notably every time either she or her sister wants to help with something. Or every time one of them has wanted to preemptively strike out against something that's threatening them. Rohara hadn't given up yet to Darcy's knowledge, but she had. “So don't worry. No one is going to mess with me. Promise.”_

 

_Heimdall shook his head unhappily. “I cannot risk that, Kithara. Your mother and I have discussed this whole matter in detail.”_

 

_Darcy almost froze in place at his words. She might not have known about her parents for long and might not be able to remember everything about them from her past, but she knew that when her father and mother 'discussed' something, there was a perceived problem. And usually the solution was not good news for her. “You and Mother have discussed what? My safety? The chance some nut-job is going to try and nab me?”_

 

“ _We've discussed your safety in the upcoming conflict,” elaborated Heimdall. “I have foreseen it's arrival. War will break out soon. Your mother and I agree you cannot be present when that occurs.”_

 

“ _Whoa, slow down and freeze.” She'd stopped walking by now. Screw class, what her father was suggesting would make arriving at her class on time pointless. And unlikely to happen regardless of what she did. “What do you mean 'you cannot be present'? I'm mortal. Plus, a war will kinda affect this whole world. Not really possible for me not 'be present' as you put it.”_

 

_He's giving her the 'you don't know everything' look now, which is even worse than the 'you're shitting me' look because it means he's about to physically prove his point. Whatever that is. “There is a place you will be safe.” One of his hands snaps out before she can actually react, grabbing hold of her upper arm. “I am sorry to do this Kithara, but it is for your own good.”_

 

_For a moment, time seems to freeze as everything around her stops moving. Which is really, really freaky in Manhattan, where everything is always moving. The frozen world gives way to darkness really quickly though, followed by the sensation of falling fast and far. Falling through a void, a structureless world that doesn't exist but exists at the same time. That sensation of falling through nothing seems to last an eternity and very well might given there are places where time does not exist between the realms._

 

_The feeling ends abruptly and leaves her feeling like she ran full speed into a wall. It makes her black out even though there is no pain. All she can think of is that she's going to ream her father out if she wakes up with a concussion. Well, she'll ream him out regardless depending on what he's done._

 

_When she floats back to consciousness, something feels off. Wrong. For one thing the space around her is really quiet except for a single voice droning on about something or another. The tone reminds her of the one her teachers used in her basic-level undergrad classes._

 

_She tries to move one of her fingers, uncertain how well that will work. When her fingers twitch, she knows that her brain is at least marginally attached to her body and somewhat working. Good thing #1._

 

_The voice is closer now, a touch annoyed and clearly unhappy about something. She can't hear anything but that voice, which is really concerning but at least she knows she isn't deaf. Unless the voice is in her head, which she doesn't think is the case. Too distorted to be an auditory hallucination._

 

_A vibration suddenly rocked through the desk, startling her enough to send adrenaline shooting through her body. It sends her rocketing up and backward from her position. The tops of her legs struck something hard and her back slammed into a second hard surface, both halting any further movement in that particular direction. Her eyes fly open but the world is spinning too badly for her to see anything. For several seconds, everything looks like one massive blur of color._

 

_Her eyes close again and she reaches up to rub at them as the world slams into reality. The annoyed voice is joined by murmurs, turning pages, clicking computer keys, and shifting bodies. Everything comes into focus with a sudden jolt that makes her nauseous._

 

“ _Well Miss. Lewis, glad to see you could join us again.” The clearly annoyed voice is coming from right beside her now, to the left of where she's sitting, a fact she's established about her environment. Namely, it's the only fact she's established. “Now, can you tell me what the basic social make-up of a communist state is?”_

 

Social make-up of a communist what? _The words floated as a meaningless jumble though her brain as she attempted to open her eyes again. This time the world didn't spin wildly but appeared in sharp relief. Color and all. It isn't what she's expecting._

 

 _She's in a classroom, a college level one from the looks of it. Probably close to 120 students are crowded around her, computers and notebooks spread out across desks. Some are in their pajamas while others have more formal clothing on. Yeah, definitely a college classroom. For a basic-level course too, from the looks of it. The higher level the class, the fewer students are present and the more standardized the dress._ But why am I here? Where is here?

 

“ _Miss Lewis,” repeats the voice, no longer annoyed so much as concerned. Probably with good reason. If she had a student who probably looked confused and maybe a touch delusional, she would be concerned too. “Are you alright?”_

 

“ _No.” Her voice sounds rough, choked, but it's her own at least. That much is a relief. It means she probably still has her own body. “I'm not feeling well. Can I go?”_ Why am I asking permission? It's a college class! They don't make you stay if you don't want to; it's your loss if you leave.

 

_The teacher gives her a look that says exactly what her brain just did and she quickly grabbed the bag beside her desk while scooping up her notebook to exit the class. As soon as she's in the hallway, she realizes her hands are shaking and she feels like she's going to fall over any second. The only question she can think to ask at the time is one she's still asking to that very day: what happened?_

* * *

 

“Darcy? Earth to Darcy, you home?” Clint's voice and semi-annoying attempts to re-grab her attention draw her back from the memories.

 

Smiling, she gives him an apologetic look and takes another bit of her cooling pizza. “Sorry, I must have spaced out.” Understatement.

 

“A little,” confirms Clint as he grabs a third slice. Geez men eat a lot. “You alright?”

 

“Yep, I'm still cheerful as ever.” She gives him a grin to support her statement. If it calms him or not she can't tell.

 

He gives her a softer smile in return. “Good to know. Look, if you don't want to talk about something, you can say so. Promise I won't report you.”

 

“Good to know.” Using an epic-level eye-roll to emphasize her 'relief', she redirects their conversation. “So, how about you? How'd you end up a secret agent workin' for a shadow agency?”

 

Clint shrugs, shifting his legs so his feet are flat on the floor and his legs are spread open with his arms propped on his knees. “I'm good with a bow.”

 

Darcy almost chokes. Though she'll never admit it to anyone except Rohara, who caught her staring at some bowmen once, archery is a complete turn-on for her. Why, she'll never know. Probably something that happened before she was changed into whatever she is now. “A bow? Like, archery?”

 

“Mhm,” hums Clint as he takes a bit, talking around the food in his mouth as he chews. “Learned in the circus. Good aim, silent weapon. Can't argue with that.”

 

Actually, she can. As far as she's concerned, bows are far from silent. That might be the part of her that had to learn how to hear an arrow before the projectile could reach her though. Amazing what a difference living 1200 years ago can have on ones modern life. “Bow's aren't silent.” It's the first thing she could think of, and probably not the best to say she realizes. Too bad she can't take it back.

 

He gives her a raised eyebrow in response. “What part of a bow makes noise?”

 

“The string.” It's true, the string makes a lot of noise when it snaps back into place. “Also, the arrow moving through the air. It makes a whistling sound.” Again, completely true. The problem is, she's probably not supposed to know that.

 

He doesn't ask any further questions though, just shrugs. “Compared to a gun, it's silent. Besides, most people aren't listening for the arrow or the bow string.”

 

Now that's true, which she realizes means the weapon is pretty much silent in modern times. “True.”

 

Silence descends in all its awkward glory for a moment, the only audible sounds being from them eating. Darcy's comfortable with that; it isn't like her sister used to talk much. Being a human for four hundred years versus a wolf for nearly 2000 years makes human languages hard to learn.

 

Apparently, Clint isn't a fan of silence. “So, how old are you anyway?”

 

“What, you haven't looked in my file?” It's said with a disbelieving snort.

 

He responds with a wide grin almost bordering on smug. “I prefer to hear answers from the person themself rather than use my spy resources to get the information.” She's so calling bullshit on that one. Apparently he can read what she's thinking because he continues before she can do anything. “Okay, that's not strictly true. But in your case, it is.” That makes no sense to her, but at least this time he's telling the truth. He really hasn't read her file.

 

“I'm 24.” It feels so wrong to say that. When Heimdall pulled her away from her world, she was 28. That was six years ago. Now, she'd be 34.

 

Clint's brow furrows a little and he looks distinctly uncomfortable for a moment. “Really? You don't act it.”

 

 _Gee, thanks._ Good to know she either acts older or younger. Maybe it's because she was taking care of Jane though. Not that she doesn't know what it's like to get drawn so far into your research that it takes one of your friends to pull you out. She remembers the three boyfriends she lost to her obsessive studying (well, one she lost because he was a jealous ass but that's a different story). She also remembers waking up in the hospital once because she passed out in the library studying for her computational exams. Apparently the human body doesn't like running on coffee for almost two days straight.

 

“Uh, thanks I guess. How old are you?” Turnabout is fair play.

 

He shifts a little uneasily. “35.” Which could explain his unease. Eating dinner with someone you think is a decade younger than you would be awkward. He'd probably laugh if he knew she was really only a year younger than him. Well, in her world.

 

“Really? Wouldn't have guessed you were that old.” Really, she wouldn't have. He looks at least five years younger than that to her. Then again, she also hung out with some pretty high-strung and potentially stressed out people, a combination that will age you like no other. Her perception might be a little skewed.

 

“Thanks.” Clint's voice sounds tight and possibly a little insulted. Considering what she said, she realizes it could be taken as a backwards complement rather than just an observation. Proof her in-human sister has not cornered the market on awkward.

 

“Seriously, you look like you're still in your twenties.” She hopes the explanation is sufficient to remedy any wound she's caused and continues on quickly. “So, where are you from anyway?” Turn about is fair play, though admittedly it isn't likely Clint is from a parallel dimension like she is.

 

“Iowa.” His reply is tense and she can hear the undertones of stress in his voice. It's a similar tone to one her sister gets when being questioned about something personally painful. Like being called a traitor by her brother. The human who is actually Rohara had called following that little confrontation just prior to Heimdall moving her.

 

For a moment, Darcy debates dropping the topic. His tone is one that you have to be capable of recognizing in order to react to. Most people wouldn't be able to recognize his distress, but she refuses to cause this man any more harm. “I had a friend from Iowa for a while. She said it was boring as hell.”

 

The statement is a true one. Her roommate in undergrad (the first time) had been from Iowa. She'd been an astrophysics student. Briefly, Darcy wondered if the girl had ever gotten a position at one of the major observatories she'd wanted to work at. She'd been smart enough to. A pang of sadness echos through Darcy's chest as she remembers, yet again, that she might never get home. Never know what happened to Sammy (her roommate) or anyone else she held dear.

 

Apparently she's giving something away because one of Clint's hands is suddenly on her shoulder. The contract draws her out of her thoughts and she finds his worried eyes staring at her from beneath furrowed brows. “Darcy?”

 

It's an open ended question, one he's not sure he can really ask. By just saying her name with a touch of a tone, he's not actually intruding but rather giving her the ability to answer his concern however she likes. It's an odd move for a S.H.I.E.L.D agent to make, but she figures Coulson or Fury ordered him not to spook her and most people don't like having personal questions asked by near-complete strangers. Glancing at his eyes though, she suspects there's something more there. The man has his secrets, as everyone does, and those secrets are dark as night.

 

 _Dark as night, I sound like Rohara._ Her sister had struggled with turns of phrase for years. She still did a little. Mostly because she just struggled with language period. Apparently, even undergoing a near-complete spiritual transformation isn't enough to make human languages easy for a former immortal wolf spirit.

 

“Darcy, you okay?” His voice is worried now and she quickly snaps back to the conversation at hand.

 

Quick thinking causes her to raise a hand and cover a fake yawn. “Sorry, I spaced.”

 

“Clearly.” There's a touch of a smirk on his lips, but it's teasing rather than cocky. Why does that smirk look familiar? Why is he even giving her that smirk? It isn't like they know each other. He stands easily, breaking her train of thought as she watches him move. It's always fascinated her how different warriors move depending on the weapon they choose. Archers are perhaps her favorite, shifting with a hidden grace and agility that reminds her of a predator animal: swift, silent, and dangerous. “C'mon, we should get some sleep. Gotta be in early tomorrow.”

 

“Yeah.” Darcy adds a sigh to the end of her statement in an attempt to sound more exhausted than she is. Today has been crazy and she needs to meditate before she sleeps. She needs to sink into her mind and bring her power back under her control. To loose control is the equivalent of inviting Death into her home (which she recalls doing before, but he was there to have tea with Rohara so things were a little different). “Sounds like a plan. Do you mind if I use the bathroom first? I really wanna crash.”

 

Apparently, she's a better liar than she realized or he's just a gentleman because he nods and allows her to slip behind the second door in her apartment. Once the door has shut, she quickly flips on a light and turns to face her reflection.

 

Externally, she doesn't look any different from anyone else but there's a faint residue on her skin. It's the kind of feeling she sometimes gets from touching someone. Rohara could have said why it happened, but she isn't there.

 

The feeling makes her shutter and quickly flip on the shower. She won't be long beneath the water; she showered earlier before leaving to meet with Jane. As she steps into the warm water, peace immediately slips over her mind and body. It's a sensation she can never explain, the sense of safety that comes over her at the touch of running water.

 

She's out again less than five minutes later, a towel wrapped around her body and hair dripping down her back. For a moment, she considers getting dressed before she hands the bathroom over to Clint but she knows it will only delay his own sleep. Instead, she brushes her teeth while still wrapped in her towel, then steps into the living room after confirming that she has left the door between her bedroom and the bathroom unlocked.

 

“Hey dude, bathroom's yours,” she calls into the room, her head and shoulders the only things sticking out of the door.

 

He glances up at her from where he's arranging the blankets on the couch, nodding once before refocusing on the project at hand. His eyes are barely on her for a second before he's looking away. She can see a touch of red tinging his cheeks as well.

 

“Is it too hot in here for you?” asks Darcy with a cocked eyebrow as she steps fully into the room, her feet carrying her to check the thermostat. “I can turn down the temperature if it is.” The room's set for 70 degrees, but she knows that's a little hot for some people.

 

Case in point: when Rohara came to visit her during their current lives, she discovered her sister's love for colder temperatures hadn't been left behind when they were reincarnated. She'd spent a week with an extra blanket on her bed while Rohara still tended to kick off her comforter. It had only been made alright because when she went to visit Rohara in turn, her sister had turned up the temperature in her home to 70 for Darcy's comfort.

 

“No, I'm good,” assures Clint, his eyes still pointedly turned towards the couch. “I'll grab the bathroom in a minute if you don't mind.”

 

“Go ahead Cowboy, use it whenever you want.” The flushing deepens a little and Darcy wonders if she's said something that made him uncomfortable. The feeling of a cool stream of air hitting her damp skin as the air conditioner kicks on reminds her that she's only in a towel. And standing in front of him. _Oh._ Her previous words suddenly take on a whole new potential meaning (one she didn't actually mean) and the prickling of her own blush begins to creep up her cheeks. Diversion time. “Just so you know, I'm gonna lock both the doors leading into my bedroom tonight. It's habit.”

 

Clint nods, the blush lessening a little as he focuses on his make-shaft bed. “Good habit.”

 

“Yeah,” mutters Darcy, her own blush still strong as she turns away. “Um, I'm gonna go to bed now. Knock if you need me.”

 

His lips quirk up into a faint smirk, though his cheeks are turning red again. “Careful, a guy might be tempted to take you up on that offer.”

 

Somehow, instead of being creepy, the response comes across as funny to Darcy. Which, she realizes, is probably the intention. Apparently, they are really bad at _not_ making inappropriate innuendo's. See the earlier conversation. Instead of giving him a weary look, she chuckles and shakes her head. “Pervert.”

 

“Appreciative,” corrects Clint with a grin. “There's a difference.” His blush is fading now, which was a little disappointing for Darcy. Somehow, she finds it cute.

 

Utilizing one of her epic eye-rolls (the kind she saves for when one of her colleagues proposed a absolutely _preposterous_ theory), she turns back towards the bathroom. “U-huh. Keep telling yourself that, I'm sure it makes you feel better, Cowboy.”

 

“Are you gonna keep calling me that?” calls Clint just as she reaches the bathroom door.

 

She looks at him over her shoulder with a grin. “Yep. Serves you right for not having the decency to remind me I was in _just_ a towel.”

 

“You're the one who came out in just a towel,” reminds Clint with a smirk as he leans against the back of the couch. “Can't blame a guy for enjoying the view.”

 

“And yet you were blushing like a school boy,” teases Darcy. She knows it's because of her chest. Most guys have trouble _not_ looking.

 

She hears Clint shift behind her as she slips into the open door but doesn't say anything further. She doesn't close the door behind her, either. Instead, she ducks into her own bedroom, flipping the lock once she's safely through the door. Inside, the room is dimly illuminated by light flooding in from the streetlamp outside. It leaves everything inside soft and comfortable.

 

Without thought or much sight, Darcy turns towards her bed and retrieves the yoga pants and tank-top which resting there. The tank-top reads: 'shake your coconuts' with the image of two coconuts printed across the chest. Personally, she finds it hilarious, plus the shirt is epically comfortable. Double win.

 

Pulling on the clothing, after she locates a pair of underwear and a bra (because she is not sleeping commando with a guy in her living room; she learned that one after the first fire drill in college), Darcy walks to the edge of a mat in the middle of her room. It's a simple mat, smooth and blue with a line-drawing of Yggdrasil printed on the surface. It's lines resemble a maze more than a drawing, which is the reason why Darcy bought it.

 

Stepping to the base of the trunk, Darcy's eyes slide nearly shut as her feet begin to walk the familiar path. She trudges slowly along the line that makes up the tree, following it from the roots up to the leaves and back around, heading for the heart of the drawing. As she steps, her lips begin to move in a familiar chant, one older than she is. Simple words: 'show me the path'. It's a plea and a command, the duel nature as conflicting as the forces that affect fate itself. Before, in her world, she might have done this to search for a path or the truth in some event. Here, she's blind to the fates of those around her. Blind to the fate of this world. Instead, she uses this path to focus her mind. The path and words are as familiar to her as breathing, without misstep or beat. The familiarity gives her the chance to think and consider all that is around her, all that she needs to do.

 

A reminder. A prayer. A search for peace.

 

It takes almost ten minutes for her to walk the path both directions, from start to heart and heart to start. Normally, she would sit at the heart of the tree for a while to consider issues or troubles she has recently faced. Tonight though, she wants to sleep. Her mind is too anxious, almost too busy for this simple activity.

 

When she opens her eyes as her feet step off the mat, her mind is calmer than it was. Quietly, she walks to her bed and crawls beneath the covers. Tomorrow will be worse than today and she will need the sleep to face what will come next in this crazy adventure.

 


	4. Meetings and Second Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meetings a pain. Especially ones that take place at 7:30 in the morning. Thankfully, Clint manages to find supersized cups of coffee. Too bad she still has to face Coln today too...

At 7:20 am, Darcy decides that Agent Phil Coulson must be a cyborg. He's definitely part human, she can see his energy signature most of the time, but there is no way that anyone should be capable of functioning this early in the morning. Especially not with the energy and alertness that her boss is currently displaying. It makes her want to curl into a ball and whimper.

 

Barton is functioning too, but she knows he didn't slept last night. In fact, she's pretty sure he spent the entire night texting someone. A phone kept buzzing somewhere and, well she could hear her neighbor's phone through the walls, it seems more likely that Barton is the culprit. _Clint,_ she reminds herself. _Call him Clint._ He told her she would need to last night as part of his cover. Which really doesn't make any sense to her, but she isn't the undercover expert either. Again, that is her sister's job.

 

Coulson hasn't said anything since granting her entrance into his office, for which she is grateful. The extra-large coffee which Barton ( _Clint. His name is Clint._ ) managed to procure from somewhere is clutched between her hands so tightly she's pretty sure there will be a permanent imprint of her fingerprints on the cup. Well, should someone successfully pry it from her fingers.

 

Behind her, the door opens to admit Barton ( _Clint. Clint, Clint, Clint!_ ) again with the red-head from the previous day trailing not far behind. Her eyes meet Darcy's with a nod before resuming the seat she'd taken the previous day. Clint retakes his place against the wall from the night before.

 

“Well Miss. Lewis, are you awake enough to begin?” asks Coulson calmly, his eyes falling on her.

 

She nods and downs more coffee. “Lets get this over with.”

 

Coulson smirks a little and flips open a folder. “Very well. You're goal is surveillance. You will be required to give a report following each meeting with Mr. Coln. Agent Barton will be posted in your apartment building, as you have already been told, and he will be the Agent you report to. Depending on what happened, he may or may not bring you back here for an additional meeting with myself and Director Fury if he believes it necessary.”

 

Darcy glances at Clint then looks back at Coulson. “Okay, I can handle that. What else? I know there's more to this thing.”

 

“There is,” confirms Coulson before he gestures at the red-headed woman. “This is Agent Romanov. She will be tailing you and Coln whenever you meet outside of S.H.I.E.L.D. If something goes wrong, she will assist you.”

 

The red-headed woman, Agent Romanov, extends her hand towards Darcy. “It's Natasha. Just as with Agent Barton, you will need to address me by my first name if you see me outside of work with Mr. Coln. This will enforce the cover that you know us both outside of work and help deflect any suspicion should we need to intervene suddenly for any reason.”

 

“Right, Natasha,” repeats Darcy with a nod. “I can remember that.”

 

“There will be a series of signs and code phrases that you will need to memorize as well,” continues Coulson as if Natasha had never interrupted him. “These phrases will work with both Agent Romanov and Agent Barton and can be used to signal trouble or distress during any form of interaction between you and Coln. Agent Barton will review those with you after our meeting. We'll also be assigning you an emergency phone which will have a total of three phone numbers in it and is to only be used if you need to securely contact Agent Barton, Agent Romanov, or myself.”

 

Darcy nods. “Three numbers, for emergency contact only. Got it.” She pauses for a moment, uncertain about her next question but feeling the need to ask anyway. “Will I need to be wired or bugged for any of this?”

 

Coulson smiles a bit and taps a box on the edge of his desk. “There is a watch in here which contains a microphone bug. Either Agent Romanov or Agent Barton will monitor the frequency when you are out with Mr. Coln. Agent Barton can show you how it works later. Any other questions?”

 

“Yeah, what do I tell Jane?” asks Darcy. At Coulson's raised eyebrow, she explains. “Jane set me up on that date to begin with, she's going to ask how it went. So, what do I tell her?”

 

Natasha answers this time, rather than Coulson. “Tell her that things went well and you are considering a second date.”

 

“Except if she talks to Coln first, which she could if she runs into him or he seeks her out, she'll know I left early,” explains Darcy. “Which means she'll know something is up.”

 

Coulson glances at Clint, eyebrow cocked. “What was the excuse you used to retrieve Miss Lewis?”  
  


“S.H.I.E.L.D. business,” replies Clint with a shrug. “I think she's more concerned with the fact that she said something...insulting and angry to him when he implied someone else could take her place in the case of an emergency rather than us needing her specifically here.”

 

“It was the commanding way he tried to handle things without letting me do anything that pissed me off,” corrects Darcy, “but that is what I'm worried about.”

 

Natasha's brow furrows unhappily. “How angry and will this affect the chances he'll approach her again?”

 

“He'll probably still approach her again,” states Clint. “It was more of a 'hey, that's not alright' comment than something that he'll actually avoid her for.”

 

“I can undo the damage by approaching him anyway,” assures Darcy. “It's what I'm going to tell Jane that I'm worried about.”

 

Coulson shrugs mildly. “Tell her that you were concerned about the emergency here and your anxiety made you snappier than normal. Then express an interest in apologizing.”

 

Darcy nods slowly, considering. “Yeah, I can do that.”

 

“Very well,” finishes Coulson as he picks up the box on the edge of the desk and offers it to Clint. “Agent Barton, I've reserved the meeting room down the hall for you and Miss Lewis to use. Please explain the signals, code words, and watch to her.”

 

Clint nods with a sketchy salute. “Yes, sir.”

 

Darcy stands at this point, shuffling out of the room behind Clint with a yawn. She doesn't speak until the door to Coulson's office had shut behind them and they are halfway to the conference room. The halls of S.H.I.E.L.D are still empty, so she doesn't have to worry about being over-heard at this point. “So, how does this spy stuff work?”

 

\-----------------

 

Natasha sighs as the door to Phil's office shuts behind Clint and Darcy. The girl seemed competent enough and Phil's convinced this will all work, so Natasha is willing to go along with the plan as it stands, but she doesn't like it. Using untrained civilians as spies hasn't worked so well for them in the past. Then, there is the issue of Clint being her contract. Which had struck Natasha as strange from the beginning. Normally, their roles are reversed with Natasha acting as the contact and Clint doing the leg work. Really though, she's pretty sure she knows the reason for that one.

 

Her eyes slide to Phil, who has set aside the paperwork he was processing as complete. “You know Clint has a crush on her, right? And that he has for a while?”

 

“It's possible I'm aware of this fact,” replies Phil, his lips tilting up in a knowing smirk. One Natasha knows all to well as the 'I know exactly what you're talking about and have already put the information to good use' smirk.

 

The smirk which spreads over Natasha's own lips is a cross between disbelieving and slight exasperation. “I never pictured you as one to play match-maker Phil.”

 

Phil's smirk shifts to his cocky one and he shrugs a single shoulder while turning towards his computer. “Just call me Cupid.”

 

\------------------------

 

“So what are these signals I need to memorize?” asks Darcy curiously as she slides into one of the seats in the conference room.

 

Clint smiles slightly as he takes a seat beside her and pulls out a list of code phrases from somewhere. “These are the code phrases you'll need to memorize. There are only five, so it's not too bad. We didn't want to over-whelm you your first time out. This list might expand later, depending on how things go.”

 

“Good to know,” mutters Darcy as she looks over the list. It's pretty straight forward as far as covert phrases go. At least, from what she can tell. For all she knows, this is the kindergartener version. 'Do you need me back at the office?' means 'Get me out of here'; 'Lovely day, isn't it?' is code for 'Is everything alright/Do you need help?'; 'We're just out having some fun' or any variation of that phrase allows Darcy to confirm she's alright; 'We're going to be late/we should get going' is the signal for Natasha or Clint to follow them closely because something is up; and 'What's the emergency' means 'I'm being/feel threatened'. “Yeah, that's pretty straight forward. What's the chance I'll have to use these?”

 

“Natasha will only approach you if she feels you're under duress,” assures Clint. “So probably not good. The watch is for the rest of the time.” Carefully, he extracts the watch from it's box, revealing a slim banded, oval watch with two buttons on one side and one on the opposite. “The side with two buttons is for activating and deactivating the microphone in the watch. The button near the '10' activates it and the one near the '7' deactivates it. The button on the opposite side sends out an emergency alert to us that something isn't right or you need help.”

 

“10 activates, 7 deactivates, and solo is for emergencies only, got it,” confirms Darcy. “Anything else?”

 

“Nope,” assures Clint as he checks his watch. “C'mon, we've got ten minutes before you need to be at your desk and you look like you need more coffee. And I'm not talking about the crap they've got in the break room.”

 

Darcy is pretty sure the look she gives him conveys a certain level of god-like status. Seriously, the man can read her mind. “Are you a mind-reader like Coulson? Or just really, really observant?”

 

“Observant,” assures Clint as he offers her a hand up before handing her the watch and code-phrase list. “I've seen the obscene amounts of coffee you manage to drink on a day when you aren't in nearly an hour early. I can just imagine what you need now.”

 

“Have you been spying on me?” asks Darcy, eying him carefully even as she takes the proffered watch and straps it to her wrist, tucking the sheet of code phrases into her pocket.

 

Clint shakes his head. “I'm always around and it's hard not to notice the new girl who's always got a cup of coffee in one hand and her iPod in the other wondering the halls every day.”

 

Darcy suspects he isn't telling the whole truth on that one, but decides not to argue if he'll get coffee for her. Free coffee is something she never passes up. At least, she hopes he's the one buying the coffee. “Are you buying?”

 

“Yep,” confirms Clint. “Gotta keep the lady properly caffeinated.”

 

“Sweet,” cheers Darcy with tired enthusiasm. “You just saved everyone's sanity.”

 

“And lives,” teases Clint as he herds her from the room and towards the elevator.

 

Darcy just rolls her eyes. “Yes, most like that too. I'm sure your fellow S.H.I.E.L.D agents will thank you later.”

 

“Damn right,” agrees Clint as the elevator opens in front of them. “So, how does the coffee shop down the street sound?”

 

\---------------------------

 

Fifteen minutes later, Darcy is back at her desk, some sort of sweet coffee drink Clint had insisted she try resting on her desk at arms length. A large had seemed like the safest bet and she found herself exceptionally glad for that decision ten minutes after she arrived when Jane wondered over to her desk.

 

“Hey Darcy.” Jane's greeting is slightly muffled by a stack of papers in her arms that looks ready to fall over with the hap-hazard way it's piled together. One of her arms is supporting the stack and the other is holding the pile close to her body.

 

Darcy nods at Jane without looking up, only realizing that Jane can't actually _see_ her gesture a moment later when she looks up and realizes Jane is only half visible. “Geez Jane, what's with the paper avalanche waiting to happen?” Darcy doesn't wait for a response as she stands and takes about half the pile from her former boss, glancing at the data as she does. Astrophysics has never been her strong suit, so the data makes very little sense, but she does know enough to know that the information displayed means Jane is getting closer to her goal.

 

“Thanks Darce,” sighs Jane as she sets her half the pile down on Darcy's desk. Darcy drops the other half on top of it and returns to her seat, pulling up a new window as she does. “This is everything we've amassed in the last month that needs to go into the monthly report.”

 

“I guessed as much,” replies Darcy as she pulls a few pieces of paper off the top of the stack and begins to scan the information presented.

 

Jane eyes the stack herself before refocusing on Darcy. “Are you sure you don't just want me to summarize everything and then you can revise the reports and give them to Coulson?”

 

“I'm sure,” assures Darcy, setting the pieces of paper on the desk and typing a few notes into the word processor on her computer. “These are duplicates of your data right? Not originals?”

 

“Those are duplicates.” Again, Jane eyes the stack of papers. “No offense Darcy, but can you even completely _understand_ what's here?”

 

Darcy rolls her eyes and gives Jane a look over the rims of her glasses. “I can understand it well enough to write up a report on it and, if I have questions, I can always ask you.”

 

Jane's hair flutters around her face as she shakes her head. “I just don't understand why you're insisting on writing the reports now.”

 

“Because it took me almost two weeks to revise the last one and I couldn't even do that until I saw your raw notes and data,” replies Darcy. “Just trust me, it'll be easier this way. Besides, now you can focus on your research and not worry about it.” It's the argument that got Jane to agree to allow Darcy to write all reports from now on.

 

“I guess,” sighs Jane as she leans back.

 

For a moment, the older woman is silent, watching as Darcy begins highlighting key points on a page and alternately typing something into the computer as she does so. Darcy can feel the other woman staring at her but doesn't say a word. She's positive she knows what Jane is going to say and refuses to hurry along this conversation.

 

“So, how did it go last night?” asks Jane as she finally gives in to her curiosity and leans forward on Darcy's desk.

 

Show time. “It kinda didn't. There was an emergency and Coulson had to send someone to get me so we could get some stuff sorted out.”

 

“Oh,” sighs Jane in a disappointed tone. “Well, will there be another date to make up for this one?”

 

Darcy shrugs mildly, attention appearing focused on the papers in front of her. “It depends. Andrew wasn't very happy when our date was interrupted and I might have been a bit rude in my hurry to make sure everything was alright.”

 

“How rude?” questions Jane wearily.

 

“I might have implied that lab assistants could be replaced more easily than I could be when he suggested I might have a stand in,” admits Darcy in the most ashamed tone she can manage. It isn't perfect, but she doubt's Jane can tell.

 

Jane sighs heavily and shakes her head. “It's true though, I doubt Agent Coulson could replace you easily if he ever needed to. Definitely not in an emergency situation. I guess the question is, do you want to go out with Andrew again?”

 

“If I get the chance to, sure,” confirms Darcy. She's very proud when no hint of her disgust at the idea comes through. “But I don't know if he'll want to ask me again after what I said.” Playing off Jane's sympathy should encourage Jane to give Andrew a push towards asking her out again. “I mean, it was completely uncalled for.”

 

“No, it wasn't,” assures Jane. “It was completely understandable. Andrew just doesn't realize how important what you do is. Look, let me talk to him. I can feel out the ground for you and report back.”

 

“Really?” asks Darcy hopefully. She adds the puppy eyes her mortal mother used to always say were irresistible.

 

And Jane falls for it completely. “Of course. What are friends for? Oh Darce, I'm so glad you've found someone you're interested in. I was starting to really worry that you'd be lonely here.”

 

Darcy gives Jane her faintest smile. “Well, I wouldn't have if it weren't for your help. Thanks for watching out for me, Jane.” She really is grateful that Jane is so worried about her. At least someone is worried for her well-being. Even if that worry is interfering with her ability to research ways to get home. Or the hunt for her sister.

 

Jane returns the smile and gives Darcy's arm a gentle squeeze as she stands and heads for the door. “It's what friends do, Darce. And don't worry, I'll make sure everything works out.” Glancing at her watch, Jane jumps a little as she spots the time. “Shoot, I have experiments running that I need to go check on.”

 

“Don't worry, I'll come drag you out of the lab at noon for lunch like always,” assures Darcy with a wave of her hand. “Go find a way to drag your hunk of Norse eye-candy back.”

 

“Alright, I'll see you then Darcy,” parts Jane with a wave as she scuttles away to check on whatever experiment she's working on.

 

With a shake of her head, Darcy turns back to the data sheets in front of her with a sigh. Hopefully, there's something useful in the pile that will give Darcy a clue as to how to get home. Or at least give some indication that Jane is closer to an answer. Shaking her head, she begins to compile her report.

 

\-------------------------------

 

Darcy is a little surprised when a cup of coffee appears on her desk several hours after she's started her work. She's even more surprised when she raises her, admittedly blurry, eyes from the pages in front of her to find Clint standing in front of her desk.

 

He offers her a smile and gestures to the coffee he's brought. “You look like you could use a pick-me-up. And some food.”

 

“Food?” repeats Darcy as she glances at the clock. And realizes it's nearly 1. Somehow. “Shit, I promised Jane I'd drag her out for food.”

 

Clint shrugs. “I saw her leaving earlier with a bunch of the other scientists down there, so you're in the clear.”

 

Darcy raises an eyebrow at him and digs out her cellphone. Sure enough, there's a text from Jane assuring Darcy that she's going to get lunch with some of the other lab personnel and that she'll talk to Coln while they're out. “Well, it looks like I'm off the hook.”

 

“You still need to eat,” points out Clint. “Which is part of why I'm here. Coulson had to leave for a business meeting at 11:30 but wanted me to make sure you got fed.”

 

“So you're here to drag me out and shove food down my throat? Pretty sure that's my job,” jokes Darcy as she stands and stretches, grabbing her jacket. “I'm a little surprised you didn't show up earlier.”

 

Clint offers her another shrug. “I didn't want to interrupt your work but when you didn't take a break, well, I didn't have much choice.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” assures Darcy. “I've had to do that with Jane enough times to know what it's like to have to drag someone out to eat. Frankly, I'm surprised you had that much patience.”

 

“Well, that and Tasha dragged me out to eat at noon,” adds Clint sheepishly. “I wasn't able to escape until about ten minutes ago.”

 

Darcy could feel the slight kick of her lips as a smirk slid over her face. “So, you're saying you were kidnapped by a girl?”

 

“A very scary girl,” confirms Clint with a sage nod, rolling with her words. His voice drops to a stage whisper with his next words. “Some say she can kill with a thought, and I didn't want to test the rumors.”

 

“Isn't she your partner?” asks Darcy, her smirk now a grin as she heads for the elevators with Clint trailing just behind her.

 

Clint offers her his own grin in return. “Maybe...”

 

“Gods, your incorrigible!” She tries to keep the laughter out of her voice but fails miserably. It's been far too long since she actually managed to find time to laugh with another it seems. Well, genuinely laugh rather than pretend to for the sake of maintaining an appearance.

 

“'Incorrigible' huh?” questions Clint teasingly as he steps into the elevator with her. “That's one I haven't heard before. Even 'Tasha usually sticks to words involving less than three syllables with me.”

 

Darcy snorts a little in her attempts to restrain her laughter. “It means 'uncontrollable'.”

 

“Huh, I think there's a note about that in my file.” For a moment, he seems to ponder this idea before nodding slowly. “I think Coulson's the one who put it there.”

 

“He'd know,” points out Darcy as they reach the bottom floor of the building and step into the lobby. “After all, he's the one responsible for attempting to keep you in line.”

 

Clint scoffs a little behind her. “He's my commander and is usually the one encouraging me to _break_ regulations.”

 

“Suuure he is,” drawls Darcy slightly. “I'll keep that in mind next time I have to fill out some obnoxiously long series of forms involving damage assessment.”

 

“Hey, Phil only had to fill that form out _once_ because of me,” objects Clint. “And it's not my fault the warehouse blew up!”

 

By this point they're on the sidewalk outside S.H.I.E.L.D and Darcy can't help it. She cracks up laughing in a way she hasn't since before she was brought through the barrier. And it feels amazing. She stumbles as she laughs, catching herself against a wall and leaning there until her laughter fades to little more than random giggles.

 

As her laughter dies, her eyes raise to meet those of a very concerned Clint. “You're incorrigible. Truly incorrigible.”

 

“You know, the word uncontrollable works too,” assures Clint with his teasing grin back in place. “You can stop sounding like a dictionary.”

 

Darcy shakes her head as she rights herself and continues down the sidewalk. “It's easier to use a word you're familiar with. Besides, incorrigible has multiple meanings all surrounding the idea of impossible or uncontrollable.”

 

“So it's a multipoint word?” jokes Clint as he pokes her side a little.

 

“A what?” asks Darcy, brow furrowing as she considers what he'd said. She's not sure what he's talking about at this point. “What's a 'multipoint word'?”

 

Clint shakes his head and motions towards a cafe on the corner of the street with a cocked eyebrow asking if it would work for food. Darcy nods and heads in that direction as Clint explains. “I was trying to be clever and make a joke. You know, a multipoint word like in Scrabble or one of those shows with the letters where you have to spell out a phrase? You said it had multiple meanings, so I was joking that you could make multiple points with one word and _earn_ multiple points in a show at the same time. No good?”

 

“I didn't get it, so no,” replies Darcy, shaking her head as she ducks into the cafe. “You might wanna work on that.”

 

“Noted,” assures Clint as he pushes in behind her. “Know what you want?”

 

Like all humans, Darcy is a creature of habit. Even if she's not _completely_ human. She usually orders the same exact thing each time she comes to this place. Instead of answering Clint though, she moves up to the counter and nods at the guy behind it. She knows him from the numerous times she's come in for a pick-me-up in the middle of the day. “Hey George, can I get my usual lunch order?”

 

“Hey Darce, shouldn't be a problem,” replies George with a grin as he begins punching information into the register. “So, who's the guy?”

 

“Someone from work,” replies Darcy as she glances back at Clint. “Want anything?”

 

“Anything good here?” asks Clint. “I've never been by.”

 

Darcy can feel her eyebrow rising in surprise. “Seriously?”

 

He shrugs a little, eyes scanning the menu. “Tasha and I usually go somewhere further from work or eat somewhere in the building.”

 

“Like the air vents?” suggests Darcy with an eye-roll. “Give me two of the house blend instead of one.”

 

George shakes his head with a touch of a smile and punches more information into the register. “Right. You know the total.”  
  


She does. She's gotten this order several times when Coulson has been more than a little busy. Though he'll never admit it, she's certain the additional coffee she brings him one particularly stressful days keeps him from murdering the younger agents. Or at least keeps him from attempting to strangle someone. She would honestly be terrified if Coulson had to go without his coffee one day.

 

Without thinking about it, she draws the bills out of her wallet and hands them to George, or at least tries to. Instead, a second hand extends from behind her, offering him the proper total. A glance over her shoulder confirms that it's Clint who's holding the money.

 

“I'm not letting you pay for my coffee,” informs Clint seriously.

 

She has to admit, she's not completely sure what to do. Well, except argue. “You paid for dinner.”

 

“Yep,” confirms Clint as he continues to hold the cash towards George, who looks drawn about who he should take payment from. “And I'm paying for your lunch. Consider it an apology for not getting you out of the office earlier.”

 

“I'm not letting you pay for my lunch just because I'm getting it a little late,” replies Darcy as she plucks the money from his hand and takes out enough to cover his coffee before shoving the rest back at him and handing the total to George. “Here George.”

 

George takes the total with a bit of a knowing smirk and glance between them. “Thanks Darce. It should be up in ten at most.”

 

“Awesome, you are the best George,” shoots back Darcy before she pulls Clint out of the way so the people behind them can reach the counter.

 

Clint huffs a little and tucks the money he'd pulled out back into his pocket. “Well, you take all the fun out of being a gentleman.”

 

“I don't need a guy to do anything for me,” informs Darcy as she plucks their coffees from the counter and passes one to Clint. “Never have. Besides, it's just coffee. I pick that up for Coulson all the time.”

 

“And he slips the total he owes you for it into your paycheck,” explains Clint. She cocks one of her eyebrows in a 'And you know this how' way and takes a sip of her coffee. “I've seen his record-keeping notes on the subject.”

 

“Somehow, that doesn't surprise me,” sighs Darcy as she focuses on the counter again, watching the various workers in back do their jobs. She's met each of them at least once, she's in here so often.

 

“What doesn't surprise you? That Coulson pays you back ninja style?” asks Clint curiously.

 

Darcy can feel the corner of her lips kick up into a small half-smile. “No, that you're the one who keeps breaking into Coulson's office. He does know about that you know.”

 

“Who said I was trying to hide it from him?” replies Clint with a cocky smirk of his own. “If he didn't want me doing it, he'd call me on it.”

 

“Or send Natasha after you.” The man behind the counter doesn't even call her name when he places her order in front of her, wrapped neatly inside a paper bag. They also know when she comes in for lunch past a certain time, she needs the food to go. Without a word, she grabs the bag off the counter and offers George a salute.

 

George nods in return from where he's taking another person's order and waves as she walks out with Clint following close behind her. She won't swear to it, but the hand resting at his side closest to hers possibly twitches. Yeah, she really doesn't want to think about the reasons for that. _Focus Darcy. You need to get home, not get distracted by an admittedly attractive warrior who just happens to use a_

_bow...gods, it's every wet dream she's ever had come to life._

 

“So what did you get?” asks Clint curiously, apparently distracted from his former hostilities towards the nice man at the cafe. Who Darcy may or may not have seen making out with one of the bus boys once when she walked in early in the morning.

 

“No clue,” admits Darcy as she opens the bag and fishes out the sandwich inside.

 

Clint's eyebrows shoot to his hairline. “How can you not know what you just ordered for lunch?”

 

“Because I ordered the Chef's Choice, which means the chef gives you whatever he or she feels like giving you that day,” explains Darcy. She weighs the sandwich in her hand for a moment before tucking it back into the bag. “Feels like a veggie sandwich of some kind. Kelsey probably made it today. It looked like Bradley and Robert were busy with other orders.”

 

The first eyebrow is joined by its twin at her comment. “You know the staff of that place?”

 

“Of course I do,” snorts Darcy with a slight laugh. “I'm in there every day. They're great if you want info about whats going on where in the city.”

 

Clint shakes his head a little in surprise. “You made contacts at the cafe down the street from work.”

 

“And?” asks Darcy. “They're good contacts to have.”

 

“I'm starting to see why Coulson likes you,” explains Clint.

 

“You mean beyond my tenacity and bribery skills?” jokes Darcy as they turn into HQ again.

 

“Something like that,” confirms Clint, holding the door for her as they enter.

 

Darcy shakes her head as she passes him, heading for the elevators somewhat sadly. She knows he will have to leave soon to return to whatever it is he does all day when not deployed to some country she isn't supposed to know about. For reasons she refuses to acknowledge, she doesn't want him to leave just yet.

 

Unbidden, advice her sister had once offered her rose to mind.

 

\-----------------

 

_Rohara silently disentangles herself from the shadows which bounce around the cave and slid onto a log before the fire, drawing the attention of her sister almost immediately. The worn look on her older sister's face was different, never as apparent as it is now._

 

“ _Sister?” She keeps her voice soft while attempting to hide the touch of worry in her tone. Her sister never shows any emotion or sign of her own state of health. Even when injured._

 

_Rohara glances up and smiles tightly, a way of attempting to soothe her mind. “I am well, Kithara. Fear not.”_

 

“ _You do not look well.” As terrible as the words sound, they are true none the less. As sisters, they must watch out for each other, though Rohara rarely allows her the honor. “What troubles you sister?”_

 

“ _I have no troubles, for I cannot feel anything which could cause me trouble,” points out Rohara, though she appears to be barely holding herself up._

 

_She can't help but shake her head, recognizing her sister's lie. “Something is weighing heavily upon you, Rohara. What is wrong?”_

 

_A sigh is her response for a moment before Rohara stands again. For a moment, Kithara fears she will flee. Instead, her sister moves to sit closer, dropping her voice to a level which is harder for a non-former wolf to hear. “Always be yourself sister and never invalidate your feelings. Who you are is marked by all that you feel and do, so accept it all.”_

 

“ _Rohara?” questions Kithara. However, the eldest sister simply stands and moves towards the cavern where their sleeping quarters are without a word._

 

\------------------------

 

To this day, Darcy is still unsure what brought on the strange advice but accepts the words of wisdom none the less. Still, there are parts of her mind which she will _not_ indulge no matter how loudly they scream for her attention. Especially now, when everything is so precariously balanced and she cannot afford any distractions.

 

Clint is standing behind her when she turns to face him again, so close she nearly runs into him as she spins. Apparently, he hadn't been expecting her sudden stop. The sudden stop didn't stop his mouth though. “Careful, you might run into someone.”

 

“Ha, ha, ha,” snarks Darcy mildly as she reaches back to punch the button to the elevator. “Maybe you shouldn't trail so close.”

 

“So you prefer binoculars and a scope?” asks Clint curiously, his face blank of any other emotion. If it weren't for the glint in his eyes, she wouldn't have realized he was kidding.

 

Darcy rolls her eyes and turns towards the opening elevator doors as they ding behind her. “I prefer to know when someone's stalking me, thank you very much.”

 

“Is that an invitation?” She could be imagining things, but his voice sounds a little hopeful.

 

“Nope, it's a warning,” replies Darcy easily as she steps into the elevator and presses the button for her floor.

 

Clint steps in behind her and tucks his hands in his pockets as the doors close. For a second, he simply rocks back on his heels before looking over at her curiously. “Okay, I've gotta ask. What'll happen if you catch me?”

 

Darcy can feel the corner of her lips kick up a little into a smile. She knows he hasn't been watching her up until now; since Heimdall dropped her here, she's been very careful to remain fully aware of her surroundings. It's easy to know when you're being watched when your life depended on it centuries ago. “If I catch you, I'll take Agent Romanov up on her offer of teaching me new tricks on how to hurt someone with a spoon.”

 

“So don't get caught,” states Clint with a grin. “Got it.”

 

She rolls her eyes and steps out of the elevator, feeling Clint trail behind her. A glance over her shoulder confirms he's following her and she can feel her brow furrow in confusion. Another, casual glance around the office confirms that Colns isn't in visual sight. She can't feel his energy either, so he isn't near by at all. Still, she doesn't want the rumor mill to destroy any chance she has at helping Coulson. She is completely serious when she says she would do anything for that man.

 

Clint, for his part, seems completely unconcerned about the potential implications. Instead, he continues to follow her all the way back to her desk, whistling as he does.

 

As she drops into her chair, he drops into the one across her desk and props his feet up on the surface. One of her eyebrows climbs into the 'what do you think you're doing' look that used to cow most of her fellow students and the undergraduate students she was responsible for as well. Clint just gives her a cocky smile in response. Apparently, it doesn't work as well on super-spies.

 

“Is there something I can help you with?” She attempts to keep her voice light but firm, indicating her displeasure with his actions. Normally, she'd just shove his legs off her desk and tell him to keep his dirty shoes on the ground. Then again, she'd usually accuse anyone else of being a creepy stalker at this point and remind whoever was bothering her that she keeps a tazer close at all times. Somehow, neither idea sounds good in this situation though. She's not sure what he's playing at, but until she knows the game, she doesn't want to make a move.

 

Clint shrugs and leans back, making himself comfortable. “I have a meeting in five minutes with Coulson, so I figured I'd bother you until then. Plus, I wanna see what you got.”

 

Both of her eyebrows shoot up and she leans forward after glancing around to make sure no-one is really paying any attention. “Are you trying to screw this up?” Her voice is a harsh whisper, tone belying the annoyance and slight panic that this man might blow everything up before it even starts.

 

The Agent just grins and pulls out his phone, typing something on the screen before pressing a button and slipping it away again. Not a second later, Darcy's phone dings, indicating she has a new message. Fishing out the phone while continuing to eye Clint, she glances at the screen to see the message in question is from him.

 

_'I'm flirting with you. Do whatever you'd normally do to rebuke these kinds of advances. We want Colns to think he has competition. It'll make him act faster.'_

 

She shoots him a variation of her 'wtf are you doing' look that was dubbed her 'seriously? You're seriously going to do that?' look by one of her high school friends. The one who got that look the most. Idly, Darcy wonders if the girl has been arrested yet.

 

Clint subtly tapping the heel of his boot on her desk draws her attention back to the fact that he's currently using her desk as a foot rest. And sitting in front of said desk. Looking hot. Damn hormones.

 

Without any preamble, she pushes his feet off her desk and shoots him the 'put them back and I remove them' look she'd mastered after her second time at a dance club. “My desk isn't a foot rest. Keep your feet on the floor.”

 

“Ma'am, yes ma'am,” jokes back Clint, nodding slightly to convey his pleasure with her reaction. Huh. Because it's not creepy at all that he somehow knows what her reaction should be. Maybe she's wrong about that spying thing.

 

Then again, she's felt someone crawling around in the air ducts before, so perhaps that was him. The one time she'd mentioned to Coulson that she heard strange sounds from the vents, he'd told her a few of the agents would play what amounted to tag in the vent system. At that point, she decided S.H.I.E.L.D was full of the insane and began to toy with the idea of the 'S' standing for sanitarium.

 

Before she can tell him not to call her 'ma'am', the door to Coulson's office swings open and the man himself steps into the doorway. “Agent Barton.”

 

Clint stands immediately, just falling short of saluting. Darcy can see the muscles in his arm twitch where they want to contract. It's hot in a way she doesn't want to consider. Or focus on. Damn attractive men.

 

“Please, come inside,” insists Coulson, stepping aside so Clint can slip past him. He turns to Darcy before re-entering his office himself. “Miss Lewis, I'm going to be in this meeting for the next few hours. Please, take the time to eat. I shouldn't need your assistance for some time.”

 

Darcy nods at him and turns back to her food as she hears the door click shut. It's not unusual for Coulson to give her some leeway in her schedule. She's taken more than a few days off because she was stuck at her desk until 3 working on a report with him. Usually, he's the one who sent her home too.

 

Though she'll never admit it, Coulson reminds her of her father. Or at least what little of him she can remember. On some level, she wonders if Coulson _is_ this world's version of her father. Her father was a brilliant man before he died and she can seen the echo of that brilliance in the way that Coulson handles his job.

 

The sound of a throat clearing draws Darcy's attention fully back to the world around her and she tenses as she realizes she can feel the faint push of Colns' energy against her skin. _Gods, it's worse than I remember too._ Still, she forces herself to relax as she spins to look up at him, attempting to paint a hopeful expression across her features. “Andrew, what a surprise.”

 

Andrew Colns', for his part, looks somewhat cowed standing before her desk with a large bouquet of flowers cradled in his arms. Well, large by her standards. Then again, she hasn't received flowers very often in her life. “Hey Darcy. Look, I wanted to apologize for how I acted last night and invite you out again. I know I was out of line, but I swear there was a good reason.” Sighing, he pushes a hand through his hair and continues in a far quieter voice, eyes turned towards the ground. “See, I've seen you around S.H.I.E.L.D. multiple times and, well, I've been wanting to ask you out for ages but hadn't been able to get up the nerve to. So having our first date interrupted, especially by an ape like Barton, kinda made me mad. I'm sorry if I implied that your work isn't important, I know it is. Dr. Foster told me exactly what you do and I get why you have to come in if there's an emergency.” Clearing his throat again, he pulls at the collar of his shirt before offering the flowers to her. “So, I'm sorry and hopefully you'll be willing to try again?”

 

Darcy manages to suppress the shiver that runs up her spine. Barely. Though she can't explain it, speeches like Andrew's have always given her the chills. In retrospect, that could be caused by the insincerity of the former apologies. Either way, she doesn't accept apologizes like these, normally. But this isn't a normal situation, so she takes the flowers with a nod and offers Andrew a soft smile. “I think that can be arranged.”

 

The grin he shoots her in return is a little boyish and, if she were any other girl, would reinforce the idea that he's very interested in her. She manages to maintain the smile she's giving him through the rest of the conversation, namely him arranging their next date. As he walks away, she offers him a wave before setting the flowers aside and letting out the heavy breath she's been holding in since he showed up. _This is going to be hell_.

 

\--------------------------------------

 

When 5 o'clock rolls around, Darcy is beyond ready to go home. Still, she has to check in with Coulson before she leaves, a nightly ritual for her that has proven beneficial on more than one occasion. In this case though, the check-in isn't just about making sure her boss doesn't need her to do something else before she leaves for the day. This time it's also about letting him know about her conversation with Colns.

 

She never saw Clint leave and suspects that part of that might be due to his being partial to air vents, so she's careful to knock before opening Coulson's door. The man in question is seated behind his desk, bent over a stack of papers. Clint is no where to be seen, reinforcing Darcy's suspicion that he snuck out through the ceiling.

 

Shaking her head to dispel all thoughts of paranoid super-spy archers (because she _really_ doesn't need more of those floating around in her brain), she closes Coulson's door and drops into the chair across from his desk without a word. Coulson knows who it is; her routine is down packed by now.

 

Coulson continues to stare at the papers in front of him, even as he speaks once she's settled. “Ready to go home, Miss Lewis?”  
  


“Beyond,” confirms Darcy with a sigh. She shifts so she's sitting sideways in the chair, attempting to give off the air of a relaxed 24 year old. It's the hardest thing in the world to not let her act drop in front of Coulson. Seriously, if she ever decided to tell someone about who she really is, it would be him.

 

“Please don't break my chair, Miss Lewis,” sighs Coulson as he continues to scribble something on a piece of paper.

 

Darcy smiles a bit and shifts to sit normally in the seat, sliding down a little so she's more comfortable. Sometimes she swears Coulson knows she's putting on an act, especially when he offers her small ways out of acting against her nature. Then again, he may legitimately worry she'll break his chair. “Sorry, boss man.”

 

The corner of Coulson's mouth kicks up just a touch. “You should know better by now, Miss Lewis.” His scolding is anything but that, more of a teasing comment than an actual reprimand. Finishing with his file, he flips the cover shut and looks up to face her. “Well then, what is the status of your assignment thus far?”

 

“Colns approached me today just after Clint came in to meet with you,” explains Darcy as casually as she can. “He wants to go out on Friday at 6:30. Wouldn't tell me where, just said to dress nice.”

 

Coulson nods slowly, face twisted into an unhappy expression she can recognize as his 'I do not like the sound of this' face. “That is...worrying.”

 

“Tell me about it,” mutters Darcy. “I don't feel safe going to an unknown location with a guy who may or may not be a bad guy.”

 

Coulson's brow furrowed a little as he leaned forward to rest his arms against his desk. “Miss Lewis, if you aren't comfortable with this, we can find another way to handle this situation.”

 

Darcy waved away his concern with a quick flick of her wrist, shaking her head to emphasize her lack of concern. “I can do this, Coulson. I wouldn't have agreed if I couldn't.”

 

“You didn't look completely certain when you agreed either,” points out Coulson as he stands, coming around to lean against his desk in front of her seat. “Miss Lewis,” glancing at the clock, he adds a very quiet “Darcy.” Darcy gives him a raised eyebrow, to which he responds with a faint smile. “I have faith you can do this, but I don't want you to be uncomfortable either. You're not an agent in the same sense that Barton or Romanov are. You haven't been field trained and I wanted you on this assignment because Colns showed interest in you as much as so I could see how you would react.” Picking up a folder from his desk, he flips to a page and begins to read. “'Miss Lewis shows potential. She is hyper aware of her environment, showing an awareness of everything and every one, including individuals who are hidden. Detail oriented. Intelligent. Calm under pressure. Well versed in the use of a tazer. Capable of handling chaos. Expert scientist wrangler.”

 

Darcy can't help but smirk a little at the last line. “That isn't actually in there.”

 

“Says who?” asks Coulson with a touch of his own smile as he sets the file aside again. “Listen Darcy, you have all the hallmarks of a strong potential recruit. This mission is something of a test, to see how you handle the field. But this particular assignment is more dangerous than I would prefer given you have no field experience, so if you want out I can make it happen.”

 

“No,” insists Darcy with a shake of her head. “Honestly, I'll be fine. It's just that...I get a really bad vibe off Colns. He makes my skin crawl in a way that's never good.”

 

Coulson nods, face curious as he shifts to sit more on his desk. “He doesn't look any different from any other individual.”

 

“Appearance has nothing to do with it,” replies Darcy with a slow shake of her head. Well, it doesn't in the strictest sense. Technically, energy is _visible_ and thus can qualify as an element of appearance, but she's not about to tell Coulson that. Any of it. “It's something else. I've never been able to put my finger on it, but something about him gives me the creeps.”

 

“Will you be able to pretend to be interested?” queries Coulson. “It's understandable if you can't.”

 

Darcy smiles a little as she looks up to meet his eyes. “Will you stop trying to talk me out of this, Phil? I'll be fine.”

 

Coulson shoots her a skeptical look but nods none the less and retrieves a slip of paper from his desk. “This is Agent Barton's new apartment number. He should be on the floor just above you. Please fill him in. He will arrange something with Agent Romanov and give you the details when he has them.”

 

“Got it,” replies Darcy as she takes the proffered piece of paper. Sure enough, the apartment number is only one off from her own. “Anything else?”

 

“Just be safe,” insists Coulson as he moves to stand and gather his coat. Glancing out the window, he frowns a little at the weather, rainy as the day has become, and motions towards his office door. “Do you have everything you need?”

 

Darcy nods, moving towards the door. “Packed and ready to bolt.”

 

He nods, holding the door for her before locking it behind them. “Good, I'll give you a lift home.”

 

Yeah, he's just like her dad.

 

\-----------------

 

She only has to knock once before Clint has the door to his apartment open, one hand catching her fist as it comes back down strike the wood of the door again. That is how fast he has the door open. He offers her a grin as he pokes his head out of the door, glancing to the left and right as if he thinks they are being watched before pulling her into the apartment.

 

“Thank god it's you this time,” greets Clint with an overly-dramatic relieved sigh. “One more older woman with cookies coming to say hello and I might have cracked.”

 

Darcy can't help the laugh that escapes her at his little comment. “Popular with the ladies?”

 

Clint shakes his head as he heads into the kitchen, dodging numerous boxes in the process. She's willing to bet most of them are just there for show, to make it look like someone is legitimately moving into the apartment. “I wouldn't care if any of them were, say, twenty years younger?”

 

“So you're a cougar magnet then?” teases Darcy. She follows him to the kitchen, her messenger bag thumping heavily against her hip as she does.

 

“Whatever happened to professionalism?” jokes Clint as he fusses with a coffee pot. “Want some?”

 

Darcy shakes her head, pulling out a piece of paper instead. “Nah, I need to get back to my apartment. I'm exhausted.” She waves the piece of paper at him a little before setting it on the counter where he can see it. “Colns asked me out again today. He wouldn't say where we're going but he gave me a time, date, and way to dress, so I'm hoping you can work with that.”

 

Clint gives her the same unhappy look that Coulson did, but with an undertone she doesn't recognize. “That's not comforting.”

 

“No, it's not,” agrees Darcy with a sigh. “But he said he wants it to be a surprise, so I guess we're playing by his rules for now.”

 

“I'll see what I can figure out,” assures Clint, his attention returning to the coffee maker. “Did you have to walk home?”

 

The bag grows a little heavier on Darcy's mind, making its physical weight seem greater even though it's physically impossible under the current circumstances. “No, Coulson gave me a lift.”

 

“Good.” For a moment, there's nothing but silence in the room as Clint finishes making his coffee and turns the pot on. That same focus then shifts to Darcy, his eyes taking in her pea-coat, water-spattered hair, and the relaxed grip on her messenger bag that is tightening with every passing moment. “You sure you don't want some coffee?”

 

Darcy shakes her head, firm in her stance. She has work to do, dammit. “Sorry, I'm just a little too tired tonight.”

 

“It's alright.” Clint's face is mostly blank, but his eyes don't look alright. They look disappointed. _That's ridiculous. The man has no reason to be disappointed._ “C'mon, I'll walk you to your apartment. You look ready to fall over.”

 

She can't look that bad. Yeah, she's tired and really does want to legitimately get more sleep tonight than she did last night, but she knows it doesn't show. She checked the mirror earlier. “It's alright, I can get down there by myself.”

 

Clint chuckles a little, one of his hands dropping to the curve of her lower back and guiding her out of the apartment. “I know you can, but _I'll_ feel better if you let me walk you down. It sounds silly, but bad things do happen in apartment buildings.”

 

Of course, she knows that. Remembers all too well an incident with a creepy guy from upstairs who tried to corner her in a dark part of the stairs in her world. Lucky for her, it was the week Rohara was visiting. No one messes with her sister, not in any incarnation.

 

“Thanks.” Really, she is thankful. It's a relief to have someone watching out for her, even when she's not out trying to woo a man who makes her want to strip off her own skin. “Did you get any work done today?”

 

“Nah, we just got the apartment paperwork done,” admits Clint with a shrug. “Spent the morning in training.”

 

“Training for you is work,” points out Darcy with a faint smile as they reach her door. She slides her key in and unlocks the wooden barrier, pushing it open carefully before turning back to Clint.

 

He offers her a grin and a raised eyebrow. “Normally I'd make a joke about coming inside, but I do have a coffee pot running upstairs and you look like you need sleep. So, I'll just tell you to sleep well, call if you need anything, and remember that I'm just upstairs.”

 

“Thanks,” repeats Darcy, the beginnings of warmth spreading through her chest. Gods, the man is like Rohara but with actual emotions. It's kind of nice. “I'll see you tomorrow at work I guess?”

 

“Yep,” confirms Clint. “If you want to ride in together, I can swing by in the morning.”

 

For a moment, she hesitates in accepting. Well she likes being around him, riding into work with him seems like a bad idea. Not a 'I'm going to kill him because he's so annoying' bad, but a 'I may or may not be starting to feel something for this man which I am going to vehemently deny' bad. Spending additional time with him could be fun and carpooling could offer them a more subtle way of meeting, but it could lead to other things she's not prepared to deal with. And doesn't have time for. _Focus Darcy, you need to find Rohara and get out of here._

 

“Maybe,” replies Darcy instead. “It depends on when you leave. Sometimes, I go in early to get things done and I'm leaning towards that idea for tomorrow. Gotta get Jane's report written.”

 

The disappointed look is back in his eyes and it takes a lot of will power on Darcy's end to not give in. Gods, why couldn't she have found a guy like him back in her dimension? Seriously, she would jump him in five seconds if she had that option open to her.

 

“Well, I'll stop by in the morning and see what's up,” compromises Clint.

 

“I can handle that,” confirms Darcy with a faint smile. “I guess I'll maybe see you then.”

 

“Maybe,” agrees Clint before he turns and starts down the hallway back to his own apartment. He throws her a wave over his shoulder as he departs, one which she returns even though he can't see her. Somehow, she suspects he knows.

 

Closing the door to her apartment, she drops her messenger bag with a heavy sigh and moves into the kitchen to throw something frozen and bad for her in the microwave. Food cooking, she returns to the bag and pulls out a thick folder filled with papers. Grabbing a spiral notebook from the dresser in her bedroom, she drops cross-legged onto the floor and flips open the folder. Carefully, she extracts the first page of Jane's most recent research notes. Eyes combing over the paper in her hands, she jots down a quick note before setting it aside and grabbing another sheet.

 

It's going to be a long night.


	5. More Meetings and Archer Prodings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow, I managed to write 23 pages with almost no story advancement. For that, I apologize.

Friday came faster than Darcy would have liked. And with it, a meeting with Coulson.

 

Dropping into the chair before Coulson's desk with a sigh, Darcy raises her eyes to look at the other three individuals in the room. Natasha is leaning against Coulson's desk corner casually, Coulson seated on the opposite corner. Clint is seated in the chair beside her, face schooled in a blank expression despite the fact that his metaphysical energy is bouncing around nervously.

 

“So, what's the plan?” asks Darcy curiously, leaning back in her chair casually. Her eyes dart around between the various faces, evaluating their expressions in an attempt to pick up on a common vibe. Too bad no one seems to feel exactly the same about all of this.

 

Coulson is worried, marked by very clear, visible spikes in his energy. Natasha seems relaxed but is just as tense as Coulson, though in a different way. She's nervous, but not for the same reason as Coulson. And Clint, well, she can't figure out what he's feeling. There is nervousness, but that's no surprise. She's never been in the field and he's the one she's reporting to. It's the second emotion floating beneath the surface that's confusing. It looks akin to jealousy, but feels more like longing. The strange mix is making her more than a little confused.

 

Her attention is drawn back to the matter at hand as Coulson stretches across his desk to hand her a folder. Silently, she flips the top cover open to find a series of photographs and several highlighted copies of various phone and credit card records. One of her eyebrows rises at the sight, but she says nothing more. Just waits for Coulson to explain.

 

For a moment, no one moves or speaks. To Darcy's annoyance. Really, if they're going to play guessing games, she needs some warning first.

 

When silence continues to fill the room, she gives in and verbally asks the question floating around in her head. “What is this?”

 

“It's the records we've pulled from Coln,” explains Clint, apparently taking the lead. Well, he is theoretically her handler. One of his hands moves to flip to a page in the file, pointing at one of the highlighted lines. “We managed to pull his phone records and got the name of the place he's probably taking you to. You'll still have to act surprised, but at least you'll know where you're going now and can make a plan.”

 

Darcy snorts a little and shakes her head. “Escape plans for me usually involve my taser. Actually,” she looks hopefully up at Coulson, “is there any chance I could bring my taser with me?”

 

Coulson smiles a bit, just a minor kicking up of his lips. “Of course. I would never keep a woman from defending herself.”

 

“Sweet,” cheers Darcy, leaning back as she looks through the file again. “So, what's the goal of all this? What am I trying to find out?”

 

Natasha shakes her head slowly, leaning forward a little to tap the edge of the folder. “For the time being, concern yourself with earning his trust. We will establish what information we want later, when he trusts you.”

 

“I can handle that,” agrees Darcy, “though I still think I should know now in case there's an opening.”

 

With a firm shake of his head, Clint lays a hand on her forearm, drawing her attention to him. The look in his eyes, combined with the energy crackling beneath his skin, confirms that he's not just nervous. There is something more to the situation, a fear of loss that she can't understand. “No, we don't want you taking any risks. Just worry about getting him to trust you right now.”

 

“Clint's right,” agrees Natasha. “You are the best hope we have of getting near him. Right now is not the time to be taking unnecessary risks.”

 

One of Darcy's eyebrow's slides towards her hairline, the look in her eyes clearly dubious. “Alright, I'll let you guys call the shots. You're the super secret agents after all.”

 

“ _Special_ super secret agents,” corrects Clint with a grin, his shoulders relaxing some. “We're _that_ good.”

 

Darcy's lips tilted up a little. “Right, because that's all that makes you _special._ ”

 

“Aright, enough you two,” cuts in Natasha with a roll of her eyes. “Darcy, we have a plan. All we need is for you to act yourself, pretend to be interested. Leave everything else to us.”

 

“Nu-uh, that doesn't fly with me.” There is no way in Hel's realm she's going on a date with a potential psychopath and _not_ being informed of the entire plan. “Look, I don't care much about the long-term details right now. But any plans that involve tonight? Those I want in on.”

 

Coulson's lips tip up again, offering her a second file. “Deal.”

 

Taking the file, Darcy flips open the first page and scans the information there in. It's a simple-write up identifying the location as a nice restaurant in downtown Manhattan. Though nice, the place is a small hole-in-the-wall establishment, meaning the owners are locals. She flips to the next page and notes a blueprint of the restaurant, complete with noted escape routes. Well, at least someone thought ahead. The last few pages are background checks on all employees at the restaurant. Nothing fishy apparently flagged anyone because there's no notations.

 

“So, what, this is the background you've run on the place?” asks Darcy mildly, her eyes watching them over the edge of the file.

 

“Correct,” confirms Coulson, hands picking up and distributing copies of the file currently resting in Darcy's lap. “We ran all employee's at the restaurant plus the owners and all companies associated with the restaurant.”

 

Darcy nods slowly, flipping back to the blueprint near the front. “And these exits are current?”

 

“Several of them are windows which might be hard to get out of.” Natasha moved one long finger along the paper in Darcy's lap, pointing to several of the points marked exit. “These three exits are windows which may or may not be barred. We plan to remove the bars for the extent of the mission to increase the number of escape routes you have access to, but that won't happen until tonight.”

 

“So if I go by early, the bars will still be there?” confirms Darcy.

 

Clint nods, leaning over from her other side to point at another exit near the back. “We will have someone posted at this door, in case you run into major issues, but we don't want to pull that out without good reason. Natasha or I will be the first line of defense if you become too distressed and need to get out of there.”

 

“Is there a good way to signal that?” asks Darcy, turning the blueprint in her hand. The restaurant layout is pretty simple, so finding a way out if she needs to shouldn't be hard. Still, she'll probably go over there before tonight if Coulson will give her the time. “I mean, it's not like you guys can just walk up to the table casually to check on me.”

 

“There will be a S.H.I.E.L.D agent acting at your waiter for that evening.” A second piece of paper appears in Coulson's hands, which he hands to her. “If you require assistance, you can use any of the phrases we've already given you to indicate distress.”

 

“We'll be monitoring the transmitter in your watch as well, so if you need help we can get to you,” adds Clint. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his legs, eyes locked on Darcy. “We won't let anything happen to you, Darcy. There are security measures in place and you'll have your taser on you, so you won't be defenseless.”

 

“Taser's not much good if the person is too close,” points out Darcy with a sigh and shake of her head. “Plus, you can loose a taser or be incapable of reaching it.”

 

Coulson nods faintly, brow furrowing in concern. “Do you have any self-defense training? We should have considered this sooner.”

 

“I know a few tricks,” confirms Darcy, thinking of the training she did with Rohara. It had been brief, given they didn't exactly live together in their current lives, but she's made it a point to practice as much as possible. “A good friend of mine believed in knowing how to defend yourself well enough to get away.”

 

Natasha nods slowly. “Can you use a knife?”

 

Pausing, Darcy considers her answer. She could tell them the truth, admit to them that she can wield a knife well enough to be dangerous. But she isn't particularly inclined to open that particular can of worms either. It isn't that she can't make up a story about how she came to learn to fight with a knife, it's that she doesn't really want to. “If I have something sharp in my vicinity, I'm about as skilled as everyone else.”

 

“Someone will bring you one of my thin knives before you leave tonight. Hide it on your person somewhere,” instructs Natasha as she stands and stretches. “Now, if we are done here, I have preparations to make.”

 

“And people to beat,” adds Clint with a teasing smirk.

 

A faint smirk tilts up Natasha's lips. “Don't forget our training session today Barton. It's at 2.”

 

Darcy can't suppress her faint snicker as Clint groans. “You forgot you were training with her today, didn't you?”

 

“Completely,” admits Clint with a sigh. “Just hope I can walk tonight.”

 

Coulson's own lips tilt up, his eyes catching Darcy's. “Don't worry, he'll be capable of walking tonight. It's tomorrow that will be questionable.”

 

Darcy snorts slightly, attempting to suppress her laughter. And failing. Clint shoots her a dirty look but she counters with a smile and slight ruffling of his hair. “Don't worry boghdóir, I'm sure she'll return you in one piece.” Clint's brow drops into a furrow so fast, she can barely catch the transition. The realization of what she'd just called him hits a few seconds later. _Shit. Alright, don't back-pedal. Act as if nothing is off. If he wants to know, he'll ask. Otherwise, let him draw his own conclusions. I could have learned the language for fun for all he knows._

 

Sure enough, he asks. “What does 'boghdóir' mean?”

 

“Archer,” supplies Coulson mildly. “It's Celtic.”

 

Both Darcy and Clint look towards Coulson, eyebrows raised in identical expressions of surprise.

 

Darcy can't help it, she has to ask. “Do I want to know how you know Celtic, boss-man?”

 

He gives her that teasing smirk in return, the one he uses to emphasize that he knows more than someone else. “I could ask you the same, Miss Lewis.”

 

“Boredom,” answers Darcy easily. It's a complete lie, but her and Rohara did begin to relearn their native tongue out of boredom. Well, that and to understand what they were both saying when they got angry and started spewing it at random. Those incidents were always interesting, especially when they couldn't actually remember what it was they had just said meant. “What's your excuse?”

 

Coulson shrugs and offers her a hidden smile. “A former assignment. Now, if we're done, I believe Agent Barton has work to do.” Clint grumbles a little as he stands, making his way towards the door. Darcy stands to follow him, but Coulson's hand on her shoulder halts her progress. Coulson rarely touches others, preferring to retain what he views as an acceptable distance between himself and others physically, so she nearly jumps as his hand connects with her shoulder. She just manages to retain her composure. If she's honest though, after the initial shock, she doesn't mind the touch. Coulson feels the same way she recalls her father feeling, so his presence is very soothing for her. “Miss Lewis, could you remain here for a moment? I'd like to discuss your recent round of reports.”

 

Darcy nods, moving to lean on Coulson's desk where Natasha had been moments ago. Clint's lips fall into a frown for a moment, but he exits none the less. Most likely due to some unseen look from Coulson. Turning her attention to the man in question, she cocks an eyebrow at him curiously. “So what's up, boss man?”

 

The look Coulson gives her is somewhere between enduring and defeat. His numerous attempts to improve her private professional interactions with him have failed too many times to count. _Of course, based on what I've heard of Hawkeye, I'm not Phil's first failure when it comes to encouraging appropriate behavior._ Then again, she's never met Hawkeye. Well, if you don't count the few phone conversations they've had which already convinced her the man was nuttier than Ratatockr. Or her sister's father.

 

Unbidden, the memory of the first phone call she ever received from the man in question flashes through her mind.

 

\--------------------

 

“ _Guard dog of Agent Phil Coulson on the line, who can I block today?” Normally, she would never answer the phone like that, but there had been a rather...irritating number of calls made already that day (easily three times what she normally had to filter through), and she'd been instructed to block them all. Well, she'd been told by Coulson that she wasn't to bother him for the whole day._

 

“ _Guard dog? You sound too hot to be a guard dog.” The man's voice was rough, slightly husky, and carried a tone that made Darcy want to tase him. Well, except for the fact that he also sounded a little high. Or was that drunk? Either way, he was inebriated. And really, she didn't normally hold someone's inebriated actions against them. She'd done a few too many things while drunk herself to be able to talk._

 

_Instead, she fortified her patience with a bit of terseness that she was saving up in case something along these lines happen (don't even ask why she was concerned it might) and pushed forward. “Sir, what business do you have with Agent Coulson?”_

 

_He almost sounded as if he was giggling. “Much hotter than the last secretary he had. Her voice was like crunching metal over the phone.”_

 

“ _Look dude, this isn't a phone sex line,” growled Darcy. Her patience had already been pushed beyond it's reasonable boundaries. She wasn't interested in his bullshit. “Whatever you need, tell me and I'll relay it to Agent Coulson when he's available.”_

 

_This time, his chuckle was clear. “Wow, hot sounding AND full of fight. Is it too forward to ask if you are single?”_

 

“ _Yes,” snapped Darcy. “Look, whoever you ar-”_

 

“ _Hawkeye,” introduced the man. “Phil calls me Hawkeye. Actually, I should be on an exceptions list somewhere over there...anyway, he'll wanna talk with me immediately.”_

 

_Darcy dug around for the exceptions list as the man rambled on. There were very few people who got to by-pass screening no matter what, but a few names that weren't Fury or Hill did appear on the list, so she was obliged to check it. Her next comment qualified as little more than quiet mutter. “You might_

_wanna sober-up before you talk to the boss man The way you're going, you'll make a pass at him and your ass will be grass.”_

 

_Again, his chuckle echoed through the line. “Out-spoken, aren't you?”_

 

“ _Point still stands,” shot back Darcy, her attention shifting to one of the upper cabinets of the cubical. Literally, she's never needed the list before today._

 

“ _Eh, did that once,” admitted the man. She could hear the sound of shifting fabric as he presumably shrugged. “Phil just pretends it didn't happen.”_

 

_Darcy can't help it, the image of straight-laced Coulson getting hit on by one of his agents makes her giggle. Hell, screw it. She hasn't gotten to screw with someone in a while. And from the sounds of it, Hawkeye needs someone to screw with his head. Well, if the stories are true. “Aw, is he denying your connection? You know, I hear the best way to get over a broken heart is through rebounding. Maybe some nice guy named Bubba will be happy to take your mind off Coulson.”_

 

_Of course, right at that moment, Coulson had to open his door. Both of his eyebrows flew to his hairline and Darcy couldn't help but wince at the look. Still, she scribbled the name 'Hawkeye' on a piece of paper along with a question mark. The way Coulson rolled his eyes said she probably wasn't going to get into major trouble for her little snide remarks. Still, he nodded as a way of indicating for her to patch the call through._

 

_Hawkeye had continued talking the entire time, oblivious to the silent conversation on her end. The volume on the phone was up loud enough that Darcy knew Coulson could hear it. “I think I'd prefer a hot girl named, er, what did you say your name was?” Coulson actually looked like he wanted to cover his eyes and groan._

 

_Looking up at Coulson, she smirks a little and responds. “I didn't give it. You'll have to figure that one out on your own Mr. Super-spy.” Without another word, she hit the transfer button. Not a second later, the phone in Coulson's office began to ring._

 

_For a moment, Coulson looked thoughtfully at the ringing headset. “You know, I'm almost tempted to let it go to voice mail.”  
_

“ _He sounded drugged up or inebriated, I'm not sure which,” admitted Darcy as another ring echoed from the office._

 

_Coulson sighed and nodded, wondering back in. “I should take it then. I'll let you know when I'm done, Miss Lewis.”_

 

“ _Sure thing boss,” parted Darcy as she watched Coulson walk back into his office with a look of 'I might murder someone shortly' on his face._

 

\---------------------------------

 

Of course, Coulson had let her off the hook because Hawkeye is an ass who needs someone to push back every now and again. Which had apparently worked, based on the rumors she's been hearing. He's still an ass to her, but hey, at least everyone else gets a break. Thankfully, he keeps clear of her in person. Well, thankfully for him. Otherwise, he'd probably have a few taser burns by now.

 

“Miss Lewis?” Coulson's voice draws her back to reality.

 

Blinking, she offers him an apologetic grin. “Sorry Coulson, my brain ran away from me.”

 

Coulson's lips kick up a bit in a smile but he doesn't respond as he takes a seat behind his desk. “I have been looking over your most recently submitted report and, well largely happy with it as always, I do feel the need to point out one issue.”

 

Darcy is nearly on her feet at this point, brow furrowed in concern. She'd be willing to swear up and down that she did everything he asked for this report. “What's wrong? I swear I followed your format to a 'T'.”

 

“You nearly did,” agrees Coulson as he pulls the report from a drawer in his desk. “There is one issue though: I know you spend a lot of time working with Dr. Foster, but I need you to define any theories mentioned in the report. Including the ones you're familiar with.”

 

Her brow remains furrowed as she takes the report from him, skimming the pages for his highlighted marks. “So, define the stuff you highlighted?”  
  


“If you could.” He hits a few keys on his computer, bringing something up on the screen. “Just have it to me by Monday, Miss Lewis.”

 

Darcy snorts. “I can fix this today. Anything else sir?”

 

Coulson nods without looking up. “Yes, you have the rest of the day off to prepare for your date tonight. I want you mentally and physically at your best for this on the off-chance that things do not go as we're planning. Go home, relax, and try not to worry too much about what will happen.”

 

“Relax?” repeats Darcy, shock hovering in her voice. She hadn't expected this at all. For a moment, she contemplates saying no, insisting he let her work to keep herself distracted. Until she realizes what this will give her: the freedom to work on her own research one more day.

 

“Yes, Darcy,” confirms Coulson as he looks up at her, his use of her first-name catching her off guard. He never does that during work-hours. “Relax. I believe it's defined as the act of attempting to not worry about what will happen, allowing ones mind and body to enter into a state of reduced tension.”

 

Darcy stares at him openly for a moment, surprised by both the snarky reaction and his blatant breaking of his own rules. He has repeatedly informed her that referring to her by her first name during work hours is unprofessional, as is her referring to him as 'Phil'. “You really want me to go, don't you?”

 

Coulson sighs slightly, standing from his chair to come lean against the front of his desk. “I want you prepared for tonight and well rested. You aren't an agent yet, Darcy, and I don't want to see you get hurt. So, do I want you to go home? Yes, because I want you safe at the end of the night.”

 

Tears hover at the corners of Darcy's eyes. It has been too long since someone expressed real concern for her well-being. For a moment, she wants to hug him. Despite everything, she wants to throw herself in his arms and tell him the whole story of her life since Heimdall dropped her here. It's only the knowledge that Coulson would most likely have to turn her into S.H.I.E.L.D. that keeps her secrets secret, replaced by snark. “You just don't want to replace the best secretary you've ever had.” Her tone is grateful, even if her words sound light.

 

She knows he understands, because his eyes twinkle in a way that indicate he's laughing even when he's not. “I don't want to loose someone with so much promise if unnecessary.” Smirking a little, he straightens in front of his desk. “And I'd rather not have to retrain someone to use my filing system.”

 

“I knew it,” jokes back Darcy, her voice conveying thanks. Tightening her grip on the report in her arms, Darcy stands with a grin. “But I'll go home anyway, just to ease your mind. Not fair to worry an old man like that.” Of course, he's not that much older than she's supposed to be, but he doesn't know that either.

 

“Thank you,” replies Coulson with a touch of his own smile, though his voice does convey genuine relief. “I'll keep your courteous nature in mind during your next evaluation.”

 

Darcy offers him a nod in return, spinning with grace towards the door of his office. “It's appreciated boss man Have a good day and try not to kill anyone while I'm gone.”  
  


His eye-roll is audible and brings Darcy an additional level of amusement, as does his dry tone. “I'll try to restrain myself, Miss Lewis.”

 

\------------------

 

Darcy is only mildly surprised when she emerges from Coulson's office to find Clint hanging around her desk in the casual way only he can seem to pull off. If it were anyone else, the whole thing would feel stalker-ish.

 

His fingers are gently running over a small box with a cat inside which is perched on the edge of her desk. Her mother had given it to her when she entered her graduate program back in her own world. It had been in her bag when Heimdall had dragged her across the barrier.

 

“What are you doing to Schrodinger?” asks Darcy curiously, even as she drops the marked up version of her last report on the desk and begins to gather her things into her bag.

 

“Schrodinger?” questions Clint curiously, one eyebrow cocking in a way she is coming to recognize as his 'I'm sorry, you just said what?' look.

 

Darcy nods towards the cat he's currently fingering without much thought. “Yeah, the cat in the box.” When he continues to look at her like she's insane, she explains. “You know the theory, Schrodinger's Cat?”

 

Clint blinks at her as if she's grown another head, but moves his hands away from the cat and shoves them in his pocket. “So, Coulson sending you home early?”

 

“Yeah,” replies Darcy, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “How'd you know?”

 

“He might have texted me.” Clint's smile is a little sheepish, his shoulders shrugging in a helpless way. “And he might have asked me to walk you home.”

 

Darcy's eyes dart around the office quickly to make sure no one is paying them any mind. However, at barely 8 am, there are few individuals actually in the office. Some people will come in within the next hour, but the office staff works primarily from 9 to 5 except for during emergencies. “I'm pretty sure that's unnecessary.”

 

“Maybe,” agrees Clint with another shrug. “But I don't mind and it would put Coulson's mind at ease. He's pretty fond of you in a platonic way.”

 

The corners of Darcy's lips twitch up a little, even as she drops the marked-up report in a drawer of her desk and locks it. She isn't supposed to bring papers home and, while she would still normally do it, knowing that Clint is watching her movements in that carefully observant way he does makes it unwise. “I hope it's platonic. I always got the feeling he was doing something with one of the other agents.”

 

Clint's own lips turn up into the beginnings of a smirk. “Hill?”

 

“My money's always been on Agent Romanov,” replies Darcy with a shrug, shouldering her bag in the process. “'Course, I didn't know who that was until the other day, but I'd seen her name on his calender enough times that the conclusions weren't hard to draw.”

 

A faint smile tugs at her lips at Clint starts choking in front of her desk. “Natasha?”

 

Darcy quirks her eyebrow at him and shrugs, shifting her bag closer to her body. “It's a logical conclusion. He meets with her more than he meets with pretty much anyone else.”

 

“Uh, yeah,” coughs Clint, clearing his throat. “You just don't know Nat, is all. By the way, never let her hear you say you think her and Coulson are sleeping together. Never tell Coulson either, no matter how much he seems to like you.”

 

“I asked Phil about it once,” admits Darcy. She hadn't, and didn't plan to, but she was curious if she could make Clint choke again like he had before. The thought that she has spent way too much time with her sister passes through her mind briefly.

 

Clint shakes his head, cocking an eyebrow at her while smirking slightly. “Liar. You didn't ask him.”

 

“How do you know?” challenges Darcy, face straight even though she knows her eyes give away her amusement.

 

“Simple,” explains Clint with a grin, “you're still alive.”

 

One of Darcy's own eyebrows rises in response as she moves around her desk and him, heading towards the elevators. “Who says he'd kill me for asking?”

 

“Because it's Coulson and I'm pretty sure he can kill someone with a look,” replies Clint as he follows, feet easily falling into step with her own. “Which he would definitely try to do if you asked about his personal life.”

 

And that is a complete lie, but she isn't going to inform Clint of that. If Coulson saw fit to keep him in the dark about things, Darcy isn't going to be the one to illuminate that darkness with a flood light. “I'm pretty sure it's only Fury who can kill someone with a look. I'm not convinced he isn't some sort of cyclops with an eye deformity and the eye-patch isn't just a diversion.”

 

“Trust me, there's an empty socket behind the patch,” assures Clint with a shutter.

 

Both of her eyebrows rise at that, curiosity pricking her interest to life. “And you know this, how?”

 

Clint looks a little abashed, ducking his head slightly as he mutters out a response. “I kinda dropped into his office unannounced once while he was laying down for a quick nap.”

 

She's pretty sure he doesn't think she can hear him, a delusion she's more than happy to rid him of. There are a lot of things she won't bring to light about herself, but her excellent hearing is one that she's more than happy to freak people out with. It doesn't give away anything important about who she is, after all. “Do I want to know what you were doing in the vents above Fury's office? And I know that's where you were, so don't deny it.”

 

One of his eyebrows rises in challenge, a smirk unfurling across his lips. “And how would you know that, hm?”

 

“Phil told me about your little games of tag in the vents,” replies Darcy with a smirk, eyes glinting as she allows her playful side a moment of freedom. She hasn't allowed herself to openly tease someone like this in a long while. At least since she came to this place. “Besides, you guys aren't exactly quiet when you're sneaking around all the time.” They are usually pretty quiet, but her hearing allows her to hear them most of the time. “And I can feel when one of you stops to stare at me.” The last comment isn't meant to be accusatory, but that particular part of their game she'd rather like to stop.

 

Clint shifts a little uneasily, looking slightly sheepish. Well, at least now she knows who's been spying on her from the vents. “I'll see what I can do about stopping whoever that is.”

 

 _Sure you will_. Darcy nods and offers hims a grin. “That would be appreciated. It's sorta creepy to feel someone watching you randomly. I mean, I know S.H.I.E.L.D. is pretty much the CIA on steroids, but it's still creepy.”

 

“Yeah, sorry about that,” apologizes Clint. His face is blank, but she can feel the unease and self-reprimand pouring off the man in waves. He'll be beating himself up for creeping her out for a while. “I'll make sure whoever that is stops ASAP.”

 

“Thanks,” replies Darcy as she presses the elevator button. Behind the doors, she can hear the engine which pulls the metal box up and down start up. “It's just too creepy for me.”

 

Clint's lips tilt up in a slight smirk. “Mental note to self: don't stalk Darcy. She finds it creepy.”

 

“As if you wouldn't,” shoots back Darcy with her own smirk. The elevator dings, announcing it's arrival just before the doors open to admit her and Clint inside.

 

They step in together, Darcy spinning to press the button for the lobby as Clint replies. “I know it's creepy. 'Tasha stalked me for a few weeks when we first met.”

 

Darcy can sense that isn't the whole truth, but she lets it slide. Whatever that story is, it's between him and Natasha. Besides, from what little she knows of the Russian woman, it probably involves some blood shed and possibly a dead body or three. In front of them, the elevator doors open to reveal an empty car which they step into. Immediately, she presses the button for the lobby. “Huh, didn't think S.H.I.E.L.D kept agents who could be creeped out.”

 

Clint smirks slightly, leaning against one of the walls to face Darcy. “How do you think Phil keeps everyone under his thumb?”

 

“His robotic personality and smile that says he knows more than you?” suggests Darcy with her own smirk, leaning against the wall opposite his own.

 

“And his ability to make everyone think he's a ninja in disguise,” confirms Clint. “Which he is, if anyone asks.”

 

Darcy rolls her eyes slightly, shaking her head. “Does anyone _not_ believe that? 'Cause, really, to get where he is in S.H.I.E.L.D you've gotta be able to kill someone with office supplies. Or something like that.” She's pretty sure it's possible to kill someone with basic office supplies, too. At minimum, Rohara had some interesting ideas.

 

“True,” agrees Clint, a smirk drawing at the corner of his lips. “If you're expecting that already though, you're more suited for S.H.I.E.L.D than I thought.”

 

“Thanks,” mutters Darcy with a shake of her head. The elevator dings, alerting them to the fact that they've reached the lobby. Her eyes glance both ways before she steps off the elevator, checking to ensure neither Jane nor Coln is around. She does not relish the idea of having to go on a date with Coln and then explain to either individual why she got off the elevator with Clint. Most probably wouldn't suspect anything amiss, but she doubts either individual realizes that her job involves interacting with men like Clint on a regular basis. And even so, interacting with him outside of her office could look suspicious.

 

Glancing over at him, she can see the way that he's grinning at her lecherously. Something he wasn't doing before. Her memory of the previous day and his comment to play along so Coln would think he has competition comes back full-force. _He's playing the leech again. Got it._

 

Stepping out of the elevator, she pretends she is ignoring him while cutting towards the exit. In reality, it's the exact opposite: she is fully aware of his presence behind her. Of every soft step he takes and every rustle of fabric that indicates his movement. _Get a grip Darcy! You can't have the man, so stop focusing on him. He's following you to ensure you get home safely because your boss requested he do so. He was probably staring at you from the vents for the same reason three quarters of your fellow students did your first year of college. Before you managed to scare every guy into believing you could use physics to open a tear in space and shove them into an endless void. Good thing drunk guys are gullible. Well, some are._ She's almost positive the man currently trailing after her would be anything but gullible even while drunk.

 

He trails her as she steps outside, eyes following her every motion. It makes her shiver, and not necessarily in discomfort. It's hard to explain the way his gaze makes her feel: nervous but not, more excited than anything. _Bad Darcy, bad!_ She has so many other things to think about right now than the way Clint's eyes make her want to jump him, so why can't she seem to remember any of it? _Danger, danger, distraction imminent._

 

Shaking her head slightly, her eyes refocus on the street ahead. It isn't until almost two blocks and a turn onto the side street leading towards her building that Clint is suddenly beside her. She should probably be more concerned that he just appeared out of nowhere, but there isn't much point. The man _is_ a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent after all and she's relatively sure all agents are required to take the same basic classes regardless of their actual position or duties.

 

“You sure we should be walking together?” questions Darcy quietly as soon as Clint appears beside her. She's careful to keep a set amount of distance between them, recognizing the distraction potential of close confines. It's been almost six years for her after all. And that's disregarding the fact that she would want to jump his bones regardless.

 

“It's safe,” assures Clint with a grin, tucking his hands in his pockets with a wink. One of his fingers taps his ear, highlighting the small, clear device tucked inside. “Nat's keeping an eye on Coln. He's currently sequestered away in his lab playing with something glow-y and potentially explosive.”

 

Darcy shakes her head with a touch of a smile. “You know, I don't even really know what division of the labs he works in. I know it's not astrophysics and, based on what he said, I'd guess any subdivision of physics is probably out.”

 

Clint chuckles slightly, nodding. “He's in the biochemistry department. Sub-level 5.”

 

There were 20 sub-levels in all, each housing labs running studies under various security levels. The higher the number, the more secure the lab. Jane's own research is located on level 15, one of the higher security levels. It's the only level Darcy can access directly, having once been Jane's assistant and still acting in that capacity despite her reassignment under Coulson. Of course, her access is a secret, but one that isn't hard to keep. Jane refuses to work with any S.H.I.E.L.D assistants. A fact that no one blames her for. Instead, she calls for Darcy when she needs assistance, which works out perfectly for her. After all, Jane's research is her best chance of finding help. Or getting home.

 

“So he's not even a high level lab rat.” Shaking her head, Darcy lets out a disappointed sigh. “Geez, by the way he was talking I thought he was at _least_ a level 9 lab rat.”

 

Clint's smile falls into a frown a second after Darcy finishes speaking. Brow furrowed, all his focus momentarily comes to rest on her. The action halts her in her tracks and leaves her feeling like trapped deer. Most people can't do that to her; the fact that Clint can is more than a little scary.

 

Reaching out, he lays a hand carefully on her shoulder. “Darce, you didn't tell him about your lab access, right?”

 

Rolling her eyes, Darcy crosses her arms under her chest and gives Clint her best 'I am not an idiot, thank you very much' look. “Yes Clint, I totally told a random lab assistant a piece of classified information that is only known to five people. I figured since I didn't know him, he'd be the perfect person to talk to about it.”

 

Clint lifts his hand away quickly, holding both palms up in a sign of surrender. “Alright, sorry. Turn off the sarcasm ray before you hurt someone.”

 

“It's more like a very sharp sword,” corrects Darcy with a smirk, her feet starting towards her building again. “And if you don't wan to be skewered, don't poke the bear.”

 

“I'll try to keep that in mind.” She can hear the smirk in Clint's tone and wonders vaguely why he's allowing her to wield her sarcasm against him. Then again, she's wondered the same about Coulson on many occasions. “And sorry for having to ask, but I just needed to hear from you that you hadn't told him.”

 

Her arms drop back to her sides as she releases a sigh. “I know. It's part of your job and I get it. Just don't expect me to _not_ give a sarcastic response. Especially if the question is stupid to begin with.”

 

“Define stupid,” requests Clint with a smirk. She knows he doesn't expect an actual response. It's clear he doesn't believe she has actual standards on the matter.

 

Smirking, she offers him a slight shrug. This type of banter feels so familiar to her, it almost hurts. The last person she could really do this with was her boyfriend in graduate school. The one who left after the coffee-hospitalization incident. Even after that, he is still a good friend. _Well, was_. “Anything with an obvious answer or that can be answered using common sense. I understand that those do sometimes need to be asked as part of protocol or procedure, but I will be snarky about it.”

 

“Good to know,” affirms Clint with his own smirk. “I'll make sure to remove all snark filters before chatting with you.”

 

“It might be wise.” Darcy feels her smirk fall away as the steps to her building come into view. She knows Clint doesn't have the afternoon off like she does; he will be needed to set up the restaurant for tonight. _The restaurant. I wanted to go over there._

 

Turning slightly, she looks up at Clint as she speaks. “So, when would be a good time for me to check out the restaurant? I don't really like the idea of being in a building I haven't mapped out every escape route in.”

 

Both of Clint's eyebrows rise to his hairline. “You mapped out every escape route in S.H.I.E.L.D?”

 

“The ones I have access to,” admits Darcy with a shrug. “It's not exactly _hard_...”

 

Clint shakes his head. “No, but it's not a normal instinct either.”

 

She knows he has a point there, but doesn't want to confirm it. Spending time with Rohara, who can be exceptionally paranoid at times (not that Darcy will ever blame her), definitely lead to the development of that particular habit. Instead, she raises an eyebrow at him. “Coming from an agent of a secret organization, I'm pretty sure that's ironic.”

 

“Pretty sure?” His smirk is back in place, teasing.

 

“I'm not an English guru,” explains Darcy with a shrug. “And ironic is one of those words frequently used improperly in American vernacular.”

 

Clint's stare clearly said he didn't think she should know all of that. It also told her that she had let her mask slip for a second. _Damn distracting man._

 

With a shake of her head, Darcy repeats her question and prays he'll drop the matter. “When would be a good time to go to the restaurant?”  
  


Apparently, Clint is feeling generous because he drops the matter to focus on her initial question. Blue eyes dart to his watch for a moment. “I'd say 15:30 at the earliest.”  
  


“Right,” mutters Darcy, mind quickly adjusting the time. It had been an automatic instinct for a while, back when her mother had been doing research in Europe again. She hadn't used the skill in nearly 8 years, but it came back quickly enough. “Would 16:45 be better?”

 

“Probably,” mutters Clint, eyes narrowing slightly, “but I'd think you'd want the time to get ready.”

 

Darcy shrugs a little. “It's not exactly hard to throw on a dress and a little make-up.”

 

There's some muttering from Clint, a strand of which sounds something like 'you try doing it in five minutes during a snow storm'. She kind of wants to know what he means and somewhat doesn't too. Based on the reports she's actually _see_ , some of their missions can slip sideways into weird territory. The one with the mule, pacifier, and Christmas lights still makes her laugh when she thinks about it.

 

Sighing, she offers him a soft smile. “Well, thankfully it's not snowing and I'm going to have more than five minutes to get ready.” It's tempting to lay an hand on his arm, but she restrains herself. Touching the man will not lead to anything good. Well, could lead to a lot of good things. Things she can't afford to be dealing with. _Mind out of the gutter, Darce. The man doesn't see you that way, remember?_

 

He looks a little startled that she heard him, but doesn't remark. Instead, he looks towards the stairs to their building. “C'mon, I'll walk you to the door.” She's not completely sure, but as she follows him towards her apartment, she could swear the back of the man's neck is bright red.

 

\----------------------------------

 

Sighing, Darcy pushes her notes towards the edge of her bed and collapses backwards. She loves physics, really she does. But astrophysics has always given her some trouble just because of the exceptionally broad nature of the study. It isn't the most complex of the various physics subdivisions, but it's the one that has always thrown her for the biggest loop. There are too many variables to track, too much information she needs that she doesn't necessarily have. So much for trying to slip suggestions to Jane. Not that she thinks she could really get away with that again. The younger (because Darcy _should_ be 34 right now, not 24) scientist is already suspicious of Darcy's knowledge base and the last thing Darcy needs to do is give Jane a reason to lock her out.

 

Knocking echos though the apartment, drawing Darcy from her thoughts. Confusion and concern war for a place in her mind even as she rolls from her bed with a crash (she sadly isn't capable of the silent movement Rohara is) and heads for the door. Without thought, her hand grabs her taser as she leaves her room. The knock echos though the main room a second time, slightly more rapid than last time. A sigh of worry.

 

Quietly, she slips onto her tip-toes to look through the peephole, the grip on her taser tightening. She isn't expecting anyone and besides Jane, who is thoroughly embroiled in a meeting at the moment, no one knows where she lives. Well, at least no one should. In theory of course, it could be Coln on the other side of the door, but he isn't scheduled to pick her until 7. Currently, it's noon.

 

Glancing through the small hole, she nearly breaths a sigh of relief.

 

Clint is standing on the other side of the door, concern pulling slightly at his features. At least, she's pretty sure it's concern. Unless his indifferent face is the same as most people's concerned face which, for all she knows, it might be.

 

Shaking her head to dislodge those thoughts, she quickly unlocks the door and cracks it open just enough that her face is visible against the frame. “Hey Clint, what's up?”

 

The archer smiles as he holds up a stack of papers. “I thought we could go over the plan for tonight again. Phil's been pacing his office like a caged animal most of the morning.”

 

One of Darcy's eyebrows rises as she opens the door a little more to lean on the frame. “And you know this how? Last I checked, he only paces out of view.”

 

“How do you think?” offers Clint with a grin.

 

She rolls her eyes. “I thought you were done hiding in the ceiling vents.”

 

“I never said that,” points out Clint with a shrug. “Besides, Nat was hunting for me and, well, that's never good.”

 

A touch of a smirk draws the edge of Darcy's lip up. “She seems harmless enough to me.” The way Clint pales makes any repercussions that will come from the comment worth it. She didn't even realize someone could turn that white. Of course, she knows the woman he calls Nat is dangerous. Coulson's told her a few stories.

 

“Please, _please_ don't ever say that in front of Nat,” mutters Clint in horror. “I don't want to have to clean your blood off the walls of S.H.I.E.L.D. And Fury would make me do it too.”

 

Her laugh apparently horrifies him further, even as she shakes her head. “I was kidding. I can tell she's more than a little dangerous. Probably knows how to kill someone with a dust mite or something.”

 

“I wouldn't put it past her.” Shaking his head, Clint holds up a second bag that Darcy hadn't noticed before. “So, food and studying work for you?”

 

Darcy nods, turning back towards the inside of her apartment. “Sounds good.”

 

Her eyes quickly scan the area to ensure no evidence of her research is laying about. There are no papers in sight, which allows her to relax for all of five seconds before realizing that her bedroom door is open. And her books are still out in plain sight. She's not sure anything is actual visible this far back, but she doesn't want to take the chance that Clint can see what she was working on either. S.H.I.E.L.D. agents often have sharp eyesight.

 

Quickly, she glances around for any excuse to head to her bedroom and thus give herself the chance to shut her door. She doesn't want to rouse suspicion against herself and shutting her bedroom door without reason could appear suspicious. Then again, she might be over thinking everything a little. Still, it's that degree of paranoia instilled in her by Rohara and experience that has allowed her to survive as long as she has. Don't try to fix what ain't broke and all that...

 

Glancing at the table where her taser is resting, she quickly grabs it and motions towards her room. “Just let me put this away.” She doesn't allow him to respond before she's heading back towards her room. Leaning in around the door, she quickly deposits the taser on one of her bookshelves before pulling the door shut. When she turns again, Clint is staring at her and blushing a little. _Huh, wonder what that's about._ “Clint?”

 

“Huh?” He blinks at her dazedly, which would be worrying if she didn't realize he'd had to raise his head slightly to look at her eyes. And she'd been leaning over a moment ago. Huh. _Don't get your hopes up, Darce. He's a guy. Most of them stare at girl's asses without thinking about it. It doesn't mean anything._

 

“So, lunch and briefings?” suggests Darcy, trying to draw his mind back to the matter at hand so he'll stop staring at her like that. It's been over six years since she was with anyone, she isn't really in a place to handle being ogled by a guy. Even if it's only because her ass was up in the air. _Maybe I can just pretend he's gay. That way my mind will stop jumping to these ridiculous conclusions. I'm a scientist, we don't get the really hot, ripped men._

 

This time, he shakes his head slightly before responding. “Uh, yeah. That's the plan.”

 

Nodding, she turns towards her kitchen and begins rummaging for something to make, only to realize with seconds her kitchen is nearly bare of food. Which really shouldn't be a surprise when she considers her schedule. Sighing, she wonders back into the living room where Clint is sorting through several folders. “So, what did you want to do about food? I'd make something for us, but my kitchen looks like it was raided by Vikings who managed to not break anything.”

 

Clint smiles slightly and points to the bag sitting on her wobbly dining table. It bares the logo of the deli down the street from S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ. “I figured if your kitchen is anything like mine, you probably didn't have food. Besides, I was taught it's better to bring an offering when visiting someone than show up empty handed. Especially if it's work related.”

 

A touch of a smile pulls at Darcy's lips. “Is Agent Romanov really that fierce? Or has she just got you that well trained? 'Cause I'll have to thank her if the latter's the case.”

 

“It's a combination,” admits Clint, digging into the bag he brought in. “Usually though, I try to avoid calling on a woman without some kind of peace offering. I almost brought coffee but, again, I figured if you were anything like me, food would be more important.”

 

Darcy pretends to be insulted, bringing a hand to her chest and schooling her facial features in an exaggerated expression of shock. “Blasphemy! Nothing is more important than coffee!”

 

Clint's laugh is rich and deep, making her want to melt. That so isn't fair; no guy has ever been able to do that. Well, no guy since she was a teenager. “Says the woman who's blood has likely been replaced with coffee, if what I've seen is any indication.”

 

She smiles herself, heading to the kitchen to brew a fresh pot of caffeinated salvation. “You mock me now, but you'll see the error of your ways. Eventually, everyone will learn the bliss of having coffee rather than blood flowing through their veins.”

 

“Been there, done that,” assures Clint, smirk in his voice. “Don't really wanna return to that life. Well, at least not anytime soon.”

 

“Then you never truly lived it,” sighs Darcy jokingly as she reappears in the kitchen's doorway, coffee brewing behind her. “I thought all the robot suits ran on coffee.”

 

Clint raises an eyebrow at her. “Do I look like a robot suit?”

 

For a moment, she pretends to look him over as if considering her answer. Though she can't be sure, she thinks there may be a touch of a blush on his cheeks. “No, guess not. You're too much of a wild card to be a robot. Coulson'd have replaced your programming by now if you were.”

 

“Hey, Coulson likes my out-of-the-box thinking!” objects Clint in mock offense. Darcy levels a raised eyebrow at him, one that clearly calls 'bullshit'. “Okay, sometimes.” The look remains on her face. “Occasionally?”

 

“Occasionally, I'll believe,” agrees Darcy with a nod. “He swears you're a good agent when you do what you're told.”

 

Clint makes a noise that might be agreement or objection. “I always get the job done.”

 

“Just not always subtly or with limited property damage,” adds Darcy, her voice teasing and soft. “I've seen the reports.”

 

“Somehow, that doesn't surprise me,” grumbles Clint, even though his voice holds no dislike or insult. “Coulson probably made sure you read them.”

 

Darcy shrugs a little, turning back into the kitchen to check on the coffee. “Believe it or not, he actually does seem to like you, for some reason.” She keeps her voice light; it's not hard to understand why Coulson likes him. Clint is reliable and seems to manage to get his assignments done without too much over-all trouble (no matter that she said otherwise before). Of course, she hasn't seen all the reports (as confirmed by the fact that she's never seen a report from Agent Codename Hawkeye); for all she knows, the man has caused some major damage before.

 

Grabbing two mugs, she splits the liquid from the carafe into the ceramic cups. “Coffee's done.”

 

“Because the last thing you need is coffee,” teases Clint with a grin, even as he appears next to her and grabs one of the cups. “You've already got the energy of a bunny rabbit.”

 

“Hey, you don't know how well or poorly I slept last night,” objects Darcy with a smirk. “For all you know, this cup will keep me going for the rest of the day.” Turning, she finds Clint staring at her, worry etched onto his brow. She raises an eyebrow in return. “What's turned your face sour?”

 

Setting his cup aside, he levels his gaze with hers. “Were you serious just now? About not sleeping last night?”

 

“What?” answers Darcy, confused. Why does it matter? She's run perfectly fine on three hours of sleep before. Not that it's an issue today- she got a solid eight hours last night.

 

“Did you get any sleep last night,” repeats Clint, voice becoming more concerned with each word.

 

She nods slowly, giving him the 'you're insane' look she perfected in undergrad. “Yeah, eight hours or somewhere there about. Why?”

 

Clint lets out a heavy breath, apparently relieved by her answer. Which just confuses her more. “I wouldn't feel comfortable with you doing this tonight on limited sleep. Neither would Coulson, for that matter. He's already acting like a mother hen, worried about one of her chicks.”

 

The image of Coulson pecking at the ground and flapping his arms around in a worried manner pops into her mind, making her smile. “I'm going to tell him you said that.”

 

“Please don't,” groans Clint, picking back up his cup and heading into the living room. “He'll either kick my ass or never let me hear the end of it. Or tell 'Tasha, who'll do both.”

 

“Eh, might be worth it,” teases Darcy as she follows him into the living room.

 

Clint smirks, shooting her a cocky look. “What, are you that desperate to get rid of me?”

 

“Maybe,” shoots back Darcy, forcing her face into a serious mask as she focuses on fishing food out of the bag. “Could keep you from stopping in unexpectedly.” She keeps her voice light, no matter how serious a face she holds. If she ever wants him to leave or has a problem with him, all she needs to do is ask Coulson to transfer him. Her boss likes her enough to do it.

 

When Clint doesn't shoot a comment back at her immediately, she glances up at him with a raised eyebrow. The look of pain and worry that's painted across his face is surprising. “Clint?”

 

“You don't actually want that, right?” asks Clint, voice carefully controlled. Neutral. “You'd tell me if you wanted me to leave you alone? Because I'd ask for a transfer immediately off this case-”

 

Carefully, she rests her hand on his shoulder. Her fingers squeeze gently, silencing him. “Clint, if I wanted you gone, you'd know it. Trust me. It was a joke.”

 

“Alright, just making sure,” states Clint quietly. Clearing his throat, he gestures to the bag she's still got one hand in. “I don't know what they made. I asked for the Chef Special.”

 

“Then it doesn't matter, everything's good,” assures Darcy as she fishes out both sandwiches. “Do you have any allergies or anything you won't eat?”

 

“Nope,” replies Clint. “You?”

 

“Nothing,” confirms Darcy, opting to pass him the heavier sandwich. She figures he eats more than her by a long shot, based on his bulk. “I couldn't get the chef special if I had allergies.”

 

Clint nods, unwrapping his sandwich and checking what's on it. “The guy behind the counter asked if one of them was for you. I told him yes, so he might have made one specifically for you.”

 

“Nah, he was just curious,” dismisses Darcy easily. “They're used to me by now, and if it was George, he's just being defensive. And nosy.”

 

“Nosy?” repeats Clint, eyebrow rising.

 

Darcy nods and sighs. “I swear, he's plotting with Jane. They're both obsessed with how much time I _don't_ spend outside of work and how much of that time I spend dating, which is almost none because I'm just too busy for that shit.” It's true, and she knows it. She's tried dating when she's busy before and it never worked out. Usually, the entire thing ends with a note on her dresser telling her she's a workaholic and needs to seriously reconsider her priorities. Which is why this time around she's been careful to keep her priorities in order.

 

Clint snorts a little, reassembling his sandwich with care. “I hear you there. Working for S.H.I.E.L.D isn't exactly a job rife with down time.”

 

“I know,” grouses Darcy, managing to settle into the conversation with surprising ease. Especially given she's never aired her grievances on the subject to anyone before; she completely ignores the implications of that fact, too. “I mean, it seems like when I do supposedly have time off, something always happens and I need to come in anyway. So why bother trying to find the time to date when I can barely find the time to relax?”

 

“It's your position at least semi nine to five?” asks Clint curiously, taking a cautious bite of his sandwich.

 

Darcy rolls her eyes. “I promise, the food won't come alive and bite you. And yeah, it's supposed to be nine to five, but working for Coulson means it's more based on when he needs me in by and for how long than an actual schedule of when I'm supposed to work.”

 

“Sounds like Potts' position,” mutters Clint, causing Darcy to raise a curious eyebrow at him. “You know, Pepper Potts? Tony's assistant and potential BFF to Coulson?”

 

“I wasn't aware Coulson _had_ a BFF, much less a female one,” admits Darcy with a shrug. For a second, she wracks her brain in search of some mention Coulson had made previously to a 'Pepper Potts'. “Wait, I don't suppose she's a red-head who looks like she just stepped off the front page of a business magazine.”

 

“That's her,” confirms Clint with a grin. “You've met her?”

 

Darcy nods firmly, recalling the woman vaguely. She'd only met Miss Potts once, when she'd come by the offices to take Phil out to lunch. “Yeah, she's a bit hard to forget. No one told me who she was though and Coulson intercepted her before I had to, so there weren't exactly introductions made.”

 

“Probably better that way,” assures Clint. “Potts is nice, but she manages to keep Tony Stark in line. I'd definitely be weary of any woman with that power.”

 

“Just a little,” jokes Darcy with an eye-roll. It had taken her nearly three weeks to catch up on who, exactly, Tony Stark was. The number of newspaper articles and vast amount of literature written by the man is as terrifying as it is prevalent. “He's a walking PR nightmare.”

 

“I'm not sure he's a PR nightmare until he opens his mouth,” argues Clint. “Until then I think he's just a PR horror.”

 

“No, he's a nightmare before he opens his mouth,” objects Darcy with a touch of a smile. “Once he starts opening his mouth, he becomes something out of a Lovecraft novel.”

 

“Lovecraft?” repeats Clint curiously, cocking his head at her slightly. “I'm guessing he's an author.”

 

Mentally, Darcy curses her slip. She's never confirmed if H. P. Lovecraft even exists in this world, much less his degree of impact. So she does what she's done multiple times thus far: bullshitted and prayed her lies work out. There isn't much else she can do. Well, playing it casual has worked several times before... “He's an American horror author from the 1930's.”

 

Clint nodded casually. “Is he any good?”

 

Great. Just what she needs. “Depends on what you like. I'm not super fond of him, but a friend of mine was.” Show disinterest and redirect. Her political science classes had been good for something at least. “Do you read a lot?”

 

“Do comic books and mission briefings count?” counters Clint, taking another bite from his sandwich with less caution. Apparently he at least finds it edible, though the word 'edible' has different meaning coming from a super-spy who's probably had to eat things that barely pass for food.

 

“They count,” she assures with a nod, biting into her own food. She loves comics herself, so she's in no position to consider them an invalid form of literature. Her collection back home was enough to make most of the men in her department drool.

 

Clint swallows, offering her a grin. “Then yeah, I read a lot.” Reaching for the file he'd brought, he flips it open to the first page and begins withdrawing photos and blueprints. “Alright, let's start going over the mission briefing.”

 

“Can't keep you from your date this afternoon,” teases Darcy. “Natasha would be incredibly disappointed.”

 

“I wouldn't call going down to the gym so she can beat the crap out of me a date,” objects Clint with a touch of a pout.

 

“No,” agrees Darcy, raising her cup to cover her lips and the touch of disappointment she can't suppress, “I'd call letting a girl do that love.” She sips at her coffee to cover the move and give her lips something to do that will cover any facial reaction she has to her own thoughts. She can't have Clint, and she knows that. He's clearly in love with his partner if he lets her beat the crap out of him. And even if he wasn't, she's still in no position to pursue any sort of romantic partnership with anyone. Too much to do. At least, that's what she keeps reminding herself. She doesn't need a partner poking around her home or her personal business and she doesn't need the distraction.

 

Clint chokes a little, staring at Darcy in horror. Okay, she wasn't expecting that reaction. “Me, in love with 'Tasha? No, not even close. 'Tasha's like a sister to me. A very violent, pushy older sister who has no issue kicking my ass if it needs to be kicked.” He pauses for a second, then adds: “And sometimes when it doesn't.”

 

Definitely not what she was expecting. Not that it changes anything on her end, so it ultimately doesn't matter. “Say whatever you want dude, no one believes you.”

 

“Coulson does,” argues Clint with a touch of a pout.

 

“Or he pretends not to notice,” counters Darcy, picking up a copy of the layout of the restaurant. “So, what's the plan once I get picked up? Andrew said he'd come get me around 6:30.”

 

Clint grabs a folded piece of paper from the folder, sliding it into the middle of the table and opening it. It's a map of the city, with her apartment highlighted on one end and what she can only guess is the restaurant on another. Pointing to her apartment, he began to explain. “We're assuming Coln is going to pick you up in a car, because that's what he's done every time so far. Natasha will be waiting on a motorcycle near by and she'll follow you at a distance just to make sure Coln doesn't try anything funny. Once you've reached the restaurant, surveillance will be taken over by a handful of S.H.I.E.L.D agents disguised as wait-staff. I'll be in the restaurant too, in the bar. Natasha is going to come join me once you and Coln are seated inside. We'll be monitoring everything you say, which means that if you get in trouble. Now, I am gonna warn you right now that Natasha is going to follow you if you go into the bathroom, just to check in if nothing else. If you feel threatened or uncertain, excuse yourself to the bathroom and Natasha will meet you there. We can work out a plan of exit if necessary from that point.”

 

“Alright, that's easy,” agrees Darcy. “I'm assuming if something happens in the car, press the emergency button on my watch.”

 

“Pretty much,” confirms Clint. “Honestly though, if you get in trouble then try to extract yourself as best you can first. I know that sounds dismissive, but it'll help keep Coln in the dark about our investigation.”

 

“I can do that,” assures Darcy. “I've been taking care of myself for years now.”

 

Clint smirks a little, eyes lighting up. “I know. We all heard about Thor and New Mexico.”

 

“Then you know how dangerous I am,” states Darcy with a smile, even though Clint has absolutely no idea how _truly_ dangerous she can be. It's better than he never finds out, too.

 

“We're all aware, taser-girl,” teases Clint. “Which is why we're all _slightly_ less worried about you going on this insane wild chase than we would be if someone else as inexperienced as you were doing the same thing.”

 

Darcy smiles slightly, taking another bite of her sandwich. Silence falls between them as they eat. It isn't the comfortable kind that she would have expected though; it's the kind that leaves her feeling at peace. _By the gods, how can I feel so comfortable around this man? He's an agent of an organization that would probably lock me away if they knew the truth about me. I shouldn't feel comfortable eating lunch with him in my home._

 

“So, do you still want to check out the restaurant this afternoon?” asks Clint curiously.

 

His question surprises Darcy, drawing her sharply from her thoughts. Blinking, she nods quickly. “Um, yeah. Definitely. I was gonna go out there after I got some lunch.”

 

Clint nods, sipping his coffee. “I'll come with you, make sure you don't get into trouble.” Her surprise must be visible somehow, because he continues to explain. “It's never bad to have back-up.”

 

“This shouldn't be dangerous though,” points out Darcy, her mind trying to figure out any reason why this man would need to come with her. And a way she can loose him, as well. When she asked about going to the restaurant, she hadn't meant going there in person. There are advantages to astroprojection, the biggest one being that no one can see you unless they can see spirits. And when that happens, it's easy enough to pretend to just be a normal dead person. Well, as normal as a dead person can be. “Besides, you have a sparring date with Natasha, remember?”

 

“And if I tell her I'm escorting you to the restaurant so you can scope it out before tonight, she'll let me off the hook,” counters Clint. “'Tasha's gotta see something in you, otherwise she wouldn't be so casual about letting you take on this mission.”

 

Well, that's a surprise. The few times she'd met Natasha, she hadn't be able to get a good read on what the woman thought of her. Apparently, the Russian woman has a better view of her than she'd thought. “That's actually comforting.”

 

“It should be,” confirms Clint with a grin. “A vote of confidence from 'Tasha is rare.”

 

Darcy nods slowly, internally heaving a sigh. There isn't a way to get out of this, and she knows it. Clint is determined to come along and, in some ways, she can admit it's comforting. Knowing that someone is so willing to protect her, willing to come along with her on something so routine and basic as a surveillance run which she's only making to sooth her nerves. “Alright. When were you thinking we'd go?”

 

Clint shrugs, checking his watch. She notes it's on the wrong wrist- opposite the one she would have expected. “We probably should leave now, if we want to get back in enough time for you to get ready.”

 

“How long do you think it's going to take me to get ready?” asks Darcy, glancing at her cellphone for the time. It's only 1:00; 6:30 is over five hours away and she doubts it'll take them even one of those hours to reach the restaurant. At least, based on the map she saw earlier.

 

“I don't know, doesn't it take a while for women to get ready for dates?” asks Clint, rubbing the back of his head slightly and shifting uncomfortably. It's cute.

 

“I need to shower, throw on a dress, and maybe do some light make-up,” counters Darcy with a smile. “An hour, tops, is all I need.”

 

The furrow in Clint's brow surprises her. “That's it? No hair or anything?”  
  


Darcy shrugs, standing to get more coffee. “I wasn't counting on it.” In the kitchen, she allows her shoulders to slump. Gods, she really hopes they aren't expecting her to go the whole nine yards. She's never done that _once_ in her life and she's pretty sure she wouldn't know how to if she needs to. “What, think I need to?”  
  


Turning, she finds herself facing Clint, who's standing in the door. “Darcy, are you sure you want to do this?”

 

“Yes,” sighs Darcy with a roll of her eyes. “I've said this. Frequently. I promise, I'm fine.”

 

“You sure?” repeats Clint, worry crossing his face. “Because we can find someone else after tonight. Really, we can.”

 

“No,” states Darcy firmly. “I can do this and I want to do it. Promise.”

 

“Alright, as long as you're sure,” murmurs Clint. “And no, I think you'll be good with something down-played tonight. The place doesn't look particularly fancy and too much of anything could scare him away.”

 

“Or make me seem way too desperate,” adds Darcy with a touch of a smile. She needs to sooth him, reassure him. If she's going to be stuck in this world, she's going to do something useful.

 

Clint's smile is back, a faint twitch of his lips at the corners. “I'm not sure anyone would believe you were desperate. You could probably get any guy you wanted.”

 

She snorts slightly, disbelieving. “Please, could not.”  
  


“Could, too,” teases Clint, rinsing out his cup and placing it in the sink. “I'd put money on it.”

 

“And lose,” counters Darcy, a spark of the competitive streak she'd once had flaring to life. It had been ages since she'd had any need for that element of her personality; that fragment that drove her to work as hard or harder than those around her in order to succeed. It's a nice feeling to have that back, even if it's just a shadow of her former competitive nature. “Trust me, I'm too much of a nerd to get any guy I want.”

 

Clint just shrugs, offering her a smile. “I know for a fact there are a lot of guys in S.H.I.E.L.D. who want you but are too afraid to ask.”

 

“I'll believe it when I see it,” dismisses Darcy easily, pouring her own coffee into on of the many travel mugs on her dish rack. “I'm not exactly scary, so I find it hard to believe that anyone would be _afraid_ to ask me out.”

 

“Then you've underestimated how protective of his office monkeys Phil can get,” counters Clint, leaning on the counter as he watches Darcy. “Everyone's afraid of getting on his bad side.”

 

“And yet, a spineless lab monkey isn't afraid to hit on me,” argues Darcy with a shake of her head. “I don't think anyone's afraid Clint, I think they're uninterested.”

 

“They aren't uninterested,” insists Clint, shaking his head. “But you aren't going to believe me, are you?”

 

Darcy smirks a little, sealing her cup and heading for the living room again. “Nope. I'm the definition of stubborn.” It isn't so much that she doesn't believe Clint (she's not blind, the way some of the agents stare at her is unmistakable), but she's relatively sure he's overstating their level of interest too.

 

He just shakes his head and shoves the wrappers from their sandwiches into the bag.

 

Heading to her bathroom, Darcy calls out to Clint just before she steps inside: “Give me a minute and I'll be ready to go.”

 

Once she's securely inside, she quickly heads straight through to her bedroom. Slipping inside, she quietly shifts her research into a pile and throws it under her blanket. It's not the best hiding place, but it'll do until she has the time to deal with it properly. Sliding back into the bathroom, she flushes the toilet and runs the water in the sink before exiting the bathroom. “Alright, ready to go.”

 


End file.
